


The Fallacy of the False Choice

by Davechicken, Shadow_Side



Series: Intrinsic Grey [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual BDSM, Consensual Non-Consent, D/s, DarkPilot, During/Post TFA, Explicit Sexual Content, Extended Universe Canon, Graphic Depictions of Sith, M/M, Mind Rape, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape By A Third Party, interrogation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 57
Words: 425,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/pseuds/Shadow_Side
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One change, even a small one, can affect everything. Here, it is simple: BB-8 does not meet Rey in the desert wastes of Jakku. Instead, it is Poe Dameron who locates his missing droid after the TIE fighter crash, and it is Kylo Ren who comes after them both. Yet this is still only the beginning, and what is to follow will indeed finish what Darth Vader started.</p><p>But not in the way anyone expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dissonance

  
  


_'Peace is a lie, there is only passion,_  
_Through passion, I gain strength,_  
_Through strength, I gain power,_  
_Through power, I gain victory,_  
_Through victory, my chains are broken,_  
_The Force shall free me.'_

~ The Code of the Sith

***

Poe Dameron wakes up with a headache.

For a moment, he can't quite process where he is, at least not until he realises he is also covered in rather a lot of sand. Pulling himself upright, he rubs a hand over his face (sand again, damn it) and blinks around, mind still racing a little as he tries to work out a) where he is and b) where he was.

And also c) how he…

…Ah. Yes. That. The memories flood back after a moment: memories of the _Finalizer_ , and of… of all _that_ unpleasantness. Memories of the escape, of the nervous young stormtrooper and…

…And the TIE fighter. The TIE fighter! Flying that little beauty had been an unexpected thrill, even if the deflector shields really do leave something to be desired. To say nothing of the part where the pilot and the gunner had separate stations. Definitely less fun that way.

And now, here he is, lying in the sand in the middle of the desert, back on Jakku, with a splitting headache, no ship, no weapon, and no BB-8. On the plus side, he is no longer locked in an interrogation room aboard the _Finalizer_ , so things are definitely looking up.

Poe staggers to his feet, staring around. The sun has all but set – how long has he been unconscious? – and there's no sign of whatever remains of the TIE fighter he and Finn appropriated from the First Order.

Oh. Finn. Where is Finn? What happened to him? The last thing Poe remembers is both of them ejecting as the wrecked TIE fighter hurtled towards the ground, but the likelihood is that they've landed pretty far apart.

With little other choice, he starts walking. There are no lights on the horizon – in any direction he can see – so he just chooses at random, hoping to find some sign of life sooner or later. Preferably the friendly kind. Maybe even some clue as to where Finn is.

Poe hopes he's all right. The man did save him from the First Order, after all.

He walks for some time, through the desert, through the darkness, until – from out of nowhere – he hears a familiar beeping sound. At first, he almost wonders if he's hallucinating, but the sounds continue, and soon he's running along the low ridge he's been following, a new burst of energy in his steps, until, down below, he sees…

…It is. It's BB-8. Poe gives a whoop of joy and hurries down the edge of the dune. Midway through, the droid up ahead notices him and turns, bleeping in delight.

"Hey, buddy," Poe breathes, dropping onto one knee to embrace the little astromech. "You been wandering out here alone all this time?"

BB-8 bleeps an affirmative, and then something more questioning.

"Oh, I escaped," Poe tells the droid, making it sound rather easier than it actually was. "I had help. Renegade stormtrooper by the name of Finn. We took a TIE fighter…"

BB-8 bleeps rather more, swivelling in excitement.

"I know, right?! It was quite a thing. Amazingly manoueverable. Needs better deflectors, though. They shot us down as soon as I tried to make a run for the planet. And now… now I don't know what happened to Finn. Or to the remains of the ship, now you mention it."

Pilot and droid regard each other for a moment, and then the astromech bleeps again.

"No, I do not need to sleep, what I need to do is find a settlement. Preferably one that has ships in it, so we can get off this planet."

Further bleeping, more forceful this time.

"…Fine, fine," Poe concedes. "But only for a few hours. And you have to promise to keep watch."

Sometimes the droid knows best.

***

They find suitable shelter a little further on: the wrecked remains of a long-forgotten freighter lying cold and lifeless amidst the dunes. Poe settles in the curve of one of the exhaust vents, whilst BB-8 remains at his side, watching the horizon.

Sleep overtakes quickly – on account of how the droid knows best – which means that, when the sound of shuttle engines cuts through the air, it makes Poe jump awake sharply, adrenaline flooding him all at once.

BB-8 chitters in agitation and alarm, swivelling and moving out to get a better view of the still-dark sky, but neither of them needs more than a few seconds to work out what's going on.

The ships in the sky can only be from one source: the First Order.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Poe mutters.

***

Stormtroopers have their uses. Most of their uses involve looking very similar and dull, a washed-out sea of ridiculously-white helmets and synchronous footsteps. Nothing wrong with a good helmet, but those ones… no. They feel too reminiscent of things gone before, things that had gone _wrong_ before. The Empire's Stormtroopers had failed abysmally, and Kylo Ren finds himself constantly wishing that the Grand Leader really would go back to clones. Those, at least, were efficient.

It was thanks to one of Hux's weak-willed morons that the Resistance pilot had escaped, so he very much would not trust more of them to retrieve either droid, or pilot, from Jakku. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it; so, standing at the boarding platform of his transport ship, he scans the monotonous, sand-drenched horizon.

Even on a planet as sparse and harsh as Jakku, reaching out with the Force to feel for the presence of another is not easy. He remembers the texture, the timbre of the pilot's thoughts; the way the Force curled around his strong (but not strong enough) will. Eyes closing, he lets the sense-memory in, using the anger of disappointment as fuel to cast his net further.

Something… indistinct but throbbing off to the East, like a tension-headache brewing. Like the way eyes would flinch sharply if you came from a dark room into the blazing sun. It isn't what he is looking for, and he drags his attention away and out into the wastes. The spies on the ground should report any sightings, so he would be more of use searching the places eyes didn't s-- _THERE_. A sharp, bright point of focus and intent. His head whips around in the direction, even though it's far beyond any natural line of sight. He has his bearing, though, and he stalks back to the ship's bridge to command his own pilot.

***

They land outside the freighter, knowing that there's no way to make this approach silently. Ren doesn't care for silent. He wants people to know he's coming.

How fitting it is to apprehend a relic of an old order in the guts of another.

"Surrender," he calls out, the mask amplifying his voice, carrying up and down the rusted walls. Behind him stand four troopers (useful for now, at least), but he isn't worried about anything harming him.

He doesn't even _need_ his target to concede. He can **make** him. But that is not the point.

Life can be so ridiculously unfair at times, Poe muses, still lurking in the shell of the freighter. Bad enough to be taken prisoner once in one day; twice is unthinkable. But he has no weapon, and he can't leave BB-8.

And not just because the droid is carrying a map to Luke Skywalker.

On the other hand, there is simply no way he's just going to give in. He merely has to think of something, and fast. Something that might let him defend himself _and_ get hold of an actual weapon at the same time.

He glances out of the freighter, just long enough to get a look at what he's up against, but not long enough to get his head shot off if one of those stormtroopers is feeling trigger-happy.

"Only four? Ren, I'm insulted," Poe shouts in response, whilst quickly searching around for something he can use as a weapon. On some level, he knows nothing is going to work – not against blasters and a damned _lightsabre_ – but he has to try.

He might get lucky.

"The Master of the Knights of Ren needs no assistance," Kylo replies, his voice disdainful. Under his helmet, his nostrils flare with annoyance that he keeps (mostly) out of his tone.

He lifts his right hand, tendrils of invisible power wrapping around the astromech droid. He could simply take it and slaughter the pilot, but there is something… something personal about him _escaping_ that makes Ren's blood run cooler. Despite the pathetic droid's whirring and whirling, he pulls it to hover a mere arm's reach in front of his face.

Threatening a man's astromech is no way to behave. "Let him go!" Poe calls out, emotion flaring distractingly, and he seizes up the thin metal beam he's been contemplating, charging out of the freighter.

It's ridiculous. He knows it's ridiculous. If the stormtroopers don't gun him down, the maniac with the lightsabre will probably slice him in two. He'll certainly slice the makeshift weapon in two.

But maybe Poe can buy BB-8 time to run again. It worked last time. Maybe it will be enough.

"Let him go!" he repeats.

Kylo lifts his other hand in the unspoken signal to 'hold', though the stormtroopers all level their blaster rifles, ready to shoot. He allows the rebel a brief moment of fire, feeling the way the air goes thick with rage and terror. It feeds him like oxygen to a flame, and Ren waits until the girder is almost upon him before he uses that second hand to still it with the Force. An invisible wall, checking the momentum, freezing the man in his tracks.

No, he doesn't need the stormtroopers at all. It's more to cow them into line than as a precaution, and to keep Hux's bitter complaining to an amusing level, instead of an unwelcome distraction.

"You will come with me," he says. Quite aside from the revenge factor, it may also prove emotive to hold a Resistance captive once more, especially one as high profile as Dameron. And it might help as leverage on the droid, too. He twists his gloved finger through the air and the metal follows his will, bending down and around to circle Poe's wrists together.

He drops the droid, and turns on his heel, expecting the white-clad fools to do _something_ of use.

Poe just about manages not to fall to his knees when that unseen grip lifts. It's the only act of defiance he's got left right now, his attempt to fight back having – predictably – not gone the way he wanted it to. He still staggers a little, though he's got his footing by the time two of the stormtroopers seize hold of him, and instinct alone makes him try to fight their grip.

"Don't," one of the troopers growls, pressing a blaster to Poe's head.

"Aren't you at least gonna buy me dinner first?" Poe calls after Kylo Ren's back, flatly ignoring the stormtrooper. And because of course it's a good idea to bait the not-Sith. Just brilliant, Dameron. Any more bright ideas?

"It would be wise to contain your tongue."

Few people talk back to Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren. The Supreme Leader, of course, doesn't need to. General Hux has ideas above his station, and everyone else knows their place. Normally he has no dealings with the scum they capture, unless they prove resistant to normal forms of coercion.

It is… unsettling to be thus challenged. Unsettling and also… interesting.

Still, he will not continue this here. He flicks his wrist and sends the man into oblivion. Some things are meant to be done in private.

***

When Poe awakes – _again_ , what a day _this_ is turning out to be – it is with a sudden jump, as though he's slipping out of a nightmare, even though the inside of his head has been nothing but darkness since…

He curses under his breath. He's back in this damned room, strapped to this damn chair, and his head still hurts. He's very much blaming the not-Sith for that, both for the TIE fighter crash and for whatever the man did to his head when they met on Jakku.

The second time. This is turning into a habit, and one Poe would very much like to break.

And, unless there are any more renegade stormtroopers wandering around, he's going to have to come up with another way out this time around.

Not good. Really very not good.

And… oh. _Oh_. BB-8. Unless Ren has messed with his memories – which is a possibility, though sadly an unlikely one in this case – the First Order has BB-8. Which means, one way or another, they have the map.

Poe curses under his breath some more, struggling uselessly for a moment, and then goes still. Waiting. The waiting is the worst part, aside from what comes _after_ the waiting.

It is a long time before Ren re-enters the room. The tang of ozone from his lightsabre's recent… outing… still clings to his black robes as he swirls in. The mask hides his face, but his whole _stance_ screams loud enough that no eyes are needed.

"You will tell me how to bypass the security on your droid," is all he says, though there isn't a push behind the words. Not initially.

Poe smiles. It is not a happy smile by any stretch of the imagination, though it is a pleased one. He knows it – like that quip down on the planet – will likely cost him, but at the same time he's glad for the momentary feeling of strength, to say nothing of the reminder that his and BB-8's backup plan is working.

For now, at least. All the hope in the galaxy won't buy them long.

"No," he says, flatly, with as much flippance as he dares. "I won't. Besides, you're telling me that, even with all the resources of the First Order at your beck and call, you can't bypass one little astro?"

It's Ren's right hand that comes up, an invisible wall again that this time bears down on the other's chest, pushing him back into the chair and pressing so hard his skin ripples back away from his cheek, chin and nose, like a nerf in a windtunnel.

"We can force our way inside, but this is quicker. Flesh and bone breaks faster than durasteel." The pressure on Poe's chest is close to that, close to breaking. Ren can feel the heart pumping harder and faster, can sense the ligaments and sinews and muscles threatening to shear and bruise. His eyes slit under the mask, drinking in the other's response.

"If you kill me, you'll never get what you want," Poe manages to gasp out, though it isn't easy. Not with all that impossible, unseen weight bearing down on him, forcing all of the air out of his lungs.

And, despite it all, he wishes he could see the other man's face. Wishes there was something to read beyond sheer black and darkness. Wishes he could tell if this is all just work and necessity to Kylo Ren, or if there's an element of enjoyment in there too. Because that would make this so very much worse.

"I do not need to kill you to get what I want," Ren agrees, some amusement in his tone. "You can survive in a body long since bent and broken. Even with a mind…" and there… that's when he works the first tendril into his head, skimming through the whirling surface thoughts, enjoying the response, first.

He has all day. They have the droid, now. The Resistance is empty-handed, and he's won a massive victory for the First Order. He can enjoy this, for a time. Can flick through the surface thoughts before he finds a chink in the armour and slips deeper into Dameron's mind. The man in the chair convulses slightly, and Ren leans just ever so slightly closer.

"But you already know that." Not a question, a statement. The pressure on his chest remains, and Kylo tugs on that thread of fear (being useless, betraying people, losing, not being the man his father was…) heightening the paranoia and guilt, teasing the momentary flicker into a white-hot furnace. "The droid," he repeats.

There is nothing in the galaxy worse than this. Not even full-on physical torture – don't think about that, don't think about that, _don't think about that_ – could quite stoop to these depths. To toying about in a person's mind. Poe Dameron is already well-acquainted with this particular hell, and with the realisation that there is nothing he can do about it.

He isn't a Jedi. Isn't Force-sensitive. Isn't some galaxy-changing hero like Leia Organa or Luke Skywalker. He's just a decent pilot with a quick trigger-finger, and neither of those facts can help him here.

He can't give in. He can't. And the very worst part is that there is no way to stop it.

"I won't," he whispers. He's confident his heart is beating so hard that the stormtroopers in the corridor beyond will be able to hear it, but he can't stop that, either. "Get out. Get _out_."

He tries to make the words sound like an insistence, rather than pleading, but there is a very fine line between the two right now. A very fine line that is rapidly disappearing.

Ah, there it is. The feeling of being _less_. The knowledge that he was just a grunt, just a pilot. (And Han Solo had been 'just' a pilot, but without the Skywalkers around him, he'd have died a nobody at the end of some blaster or another.) He was no Force-user, and thus he was _weak_. "You are nothing," Ren tells him, pulling that dark little flower up, tugging the deathly petals out to bloom and spill poison in his veins. "You are nobody. I am Kylo Ren, and you cannot resist me."

He can't. Ren could push all in, all at once, if he chose to. Could brute-force his way in past the floundering barriers Dameron is trying to put up, but it would be so less… subtle. It is the difference between an AT-AT and a TIE. One is agile and deadly, the other… mostly stomps on things.

High on the feeling of _power_ , of the knowledge that he is **superior** , Ren uses it to push further in. The pilot is shaking hard, now; sweat making matted, dried blood liquid again and streaming down his face in pretty, pink rivulets. Ren leans in closer, the sound of heart-chambers a deafening roar. "The safety circuit. How do I disable it?"

Poe has only one card left to play. He knows it won't save him – right now nothing can, least of all he himself – but it might just push the other man over the edge. And that… well. It will probably get Poe killed.

But maybe that would be better in the long run. Certainly in the short run.

There are tears pricking the corners of his eyes. A long string of pleas threatening to slip his lips, ready to promise the other man anything just to get him to stop.

One last card. One last card.

"…You are Ben Solo, and I shouldn't have to…"

Rage, white hot and impossible to deny. No one speaks that name, not any more. They have learned not even to whisper it where he might hear, lest Kylo Ren's wrath comes forth.

Part of him hates himself for how much it can affect him, this name that was his, and is no more. Like a drop of caesium in water, the response immediate and exothermic. His hand moves, gripping the other about the throat and choking the life from him more _brutally_ , more… **viscerally** , as his face-plate almost grazes the other's nose.

But rage is good. Rage is emotion. Emotion is power. His lightsabre flickers out into light in his off-hand before he even knows it. He can use this, can course above the wave and use the power of the ocean to bear down on this foolish little skiff.

"Ben Solo is dead," he snarls, the vocoder in his mask turning his words into a guttural snarl. He lets the feeling of loathing, of resentment and disgust at the name (the _Solo_ part the worst of it all) slam into Poe's mind, lets him stagger under the Dark. "Tell. Me."

The anger flickers around; a family meal as awkward as they come. A woman late, trailing political woes in her wake. A father as distant as a cold, dying star. A walking carpet who long ago stopped offering rides on shoulders, who follows the cold star like a planet in a decaying orbit. A son, seeing past the stories and into the hypocrisy, an island to himself, ignored and unloved. No Solo. No Organa. No Skywalker.

Ren.

All that raw hate hits Poe far harder than the hand on his throat (which is really saying something, or at least it would be, were whole sentences possible at this point). For a long, terrible moment, Poe finds himself wondering if he really could push the other man to kill him.

Maybe he could. But he can't. The urge to live is so strong, even it has betrayed him. And the pain – by the Force – the pain is nigh-on unbearable now. The pain… and that strange, flickering urge to just tell the other man what he wants to know. To just give in, to surrender, as was always the inevitable end to all of this.

"…failsafe…" he chokes out, the word an agony to voice. Literally and emotionally. "Has… to be me…"

Damn, but he'd really like to pass out now. Somehow he doubts he'll be afforded the luxury this time.

Of course. Ren can feel the truth in that, can feel the genuine despair and dismay as the words tumble out. It's infinitely more satisfying to make a fool _say_ things than it is to just pluck them from their mind. Once they know you can trespass amongst their deepest fears, the only thing worse is for their own tongue and lips to betray them.

And they do. They always do. He holds the moment a little longer, twists like a knife inside the other's torn-open mind… then drops his hand and pulls out in one swift move. He can still feel the emotions radiating off him, but no longer the fine detail. It's the way the Force bends around him, twisted and knotted in pain.

A gesture that's all but invisible, and he stares, eyeless, at Dameron's face as he speaks through the radio: "Bring the droid to me."

Poe drops back against the chair, gasping, shaking, the relief at being let go of instantly blending to fresh anguish at the knowledge that he's snapped. That he's broken, again.

It isn't the same. He knows it isn't the same as breaking under pure physical duress – knows that he _didn't_ – but that doesn't make it any better. On the contrary, this feels so much worse.

And this was so much faster. And that, too, is another curse masquerading as a blessing.

The world has gone hazy, his mind constantly trying to slip away only to snap back every time, and Poe isn't sure if Ren is doing that to him as well, or if it's merely his own mind betraying him. Refusing to shut down. Leaving him to endure more pain.

"You… you don't have to do this," he whispers. Not quite begging. Not quite pleading. Appealing. Yes. Appealing to the man he knows is somewhere under all that Dark Side conditioning. Appealing to the man who was once the floppy-haired kid that Poe Dameron remembers from so very long ago, admired only ever from a distance.

"You may surrender the failsafe, and I will give you a quick death," Ren offers, though whether or not it's true is a matter of debate. "Command the droid to obey me, and you will suffer no more."

He sees the edges of that blackness, the longing for the void. Kylo knows it all too well, the desire to punch through the ship's safety-nets, to slip into hyperspace knowing you'll never resolve back out. The urge to peer over a cliff's edge and just… keep leaning… he knows. Oh, he knows.

It wasn't to see if he'd say 'yes' that he's asked. He already knows the answer.

And he does have to do this. His hand has been forced. With the map… with the map he can find his old, so-called Master. He can render Luke Skywalker the justice owed to the man who killed Darth Vader.

He has to do this. Has to. The point of no-return is not so much passed as exploded in his afterburn.

Poe is just drifting now, caught between the cold, harsh world without and the dark, oblivious world within. He can't let go, so he just _lets_ , allowing reality to slip him by, not intruding, not demanding.

Holding on to every second of not-pain, because he knows there's more of the other thing to come.

Trying not to think, even for an instant, as to why.

Just in case.

"All right," he murmurs, when the other man's words insist upon him. "All right. Just… no more. No more…"

He is still playing that one last card. He doesn't dare hope that it might work.

Everyone gives in eventually. Everyone. It's just a matter of stamina, and Kylo knows his rage will fuel him longer than anyone else. It's what makes him strong, what keeps him going. He nods, and there's a sudden – unbidden – urge to peel off a glove and push his bare fingers through--

The momentary lapse, the memory of comfort long past, dissipates when the doors shush open, and he turns on his heel to glare at the two stormtroopers who stand on the other side of the doors. He feels… guilt? No. Annoyance. Annoyance at the intrusion, and with himself for not anticipating it. He'd been… distracted.

The BB unit is strapped down to another droid – one with only basic pathfinding AI – and it chirrups in alarm when it sees him.

"Leave," he barks at the two, who hurriedly leave them alone.

Ren turns back to Dameron, the moment broken. Much like him. He's battered and still half-under, and Ren wonders how much he could get away with, without any further use of the Force? How under is his will? Would he drop to his knees if released from his restraints?

Why is he even thinking of that?

"Failsafe." If in doubt, repeat the mission.

Poe wants to refuse, even now. The other man is not – currently – inside his head, so he could do it if he wanted. It would win him a moment of satisfaction. It would also win him multiple moments of very intense, very personal pain, and he's not quite ready for that again just yet.

Plus… the card. The last card. Win the whole table, or go home with naught but the shirt on his back.

"…BB-8?"

His astromech bleeps in alarm. Poe realises he must look terrible. He certainly sounds it, and the little droid wouldn't miss that, even without the rest.

"BB-8… disable your safeties. I… I need you to follow orders from…"

_Ben Solo. Ben. Solo. Say it again and he'll probably kill you._

"…from Kylo Ren."

BB-8 makes a sound of acute distress.

"BB-8… you must obey. I am your Master and I am commanding you."

Droids were not meant to second-guess their Masters, and Kylo feels his lips curl away from his teeth in a snarl. If he could just push his way into the silicone mind he'd have the information already. But no, a droid is a… curious, metallic space in the Force. They move through the world, but their minds are not of it.

"Show me the way to Skywalker," he says, still watching the pilot for signs of duplicity, reading the way the Force moves around him. "I am your Master, now."

BB-8 swivels – as much as possible in its current predicament – between looking at Poe and looking at Ren. For a moment, it seems as though the droid is going to refuse, and then it gives a series of low, sad sounds before angling upwards and projecting a holographic map into midair.

It's a wide sector of space, filled with star systems and nebulae, but without any indication of what the systems are or where in the galaxy they exist. The only marking is a single, dotted line – a path through space – that leads to one system in particular.

Poe looks at BB-8 in sudden horror. That… was not what was supposed to happen. Well, OK, it was, but it wasn't, and…

He closes his eyes. He can't look at either of them right now.

"The map is incomplete," Ren says, his attention now drawn to the projected image above them. He turns from Poe – his usefulness expended – and wanders through the resurrected stars. "But with the Empire's database, we will find this…"

A finger reaches up to the final dot at the end of a red line. "Perhaps I will take you with me. So that you can see the outcome of your endeavour. You worked very hard to retrieve this map for me."

"Well, you didn't seem able to find it yourself," Poe murmurs, not quite as sotto-voce as he should.

On some level, he can't quite stop asking for trouble. He wonders, not at all idly, why that is.

It isn't until after the impact that Kylo wonders if he should have let the other under his skin or not, and by then it is far too late: the back of his gloved hand has snapped across Dameron's face and split the other's lip wide open.

"You have delivered the information to **me**. Skywalker will be mine, and your precious, pathetic Resistance will be over before you have time to accept this to be true."

At the droid's distressed beeping, Kylo reaches out his hand towards it. "I may not have the power to enter your tiny mind, but I can still cease all flow of electricity through your circuits."

Oh, but that was a bad idea, Poe realises – at least when he can see again. He licks instinctively at his lip, the taste of his own blood unwelcome, and jams his eyes shut, trying to block out the world. Trying to steel himself for the fact that he's not done yet.

"Leave him alone," he says – an insistence, not a plea. Mostly. "He did what you wanted. We both did what you wanted."

"You did. You will be rewarded by being allowed to watch what your co-operation brings to pass." And to live until he is sure the information is valid. A hand to his hilt, a flick out and a _thrumming_ in the air.

The red blade hovers between them, close enough that the heat from the beam makes Dameron's skin warm in response. Ren wonders… could he be swayed? Would that add insult to injury? Or… he turns on his heel and brings the blade crashing down. It barely avoids BB-8 – who shrieks in outright alarm – cutting through the rope to free the little ball.

"You will come with me," he says, and the lightsabre turns off with a _vssshink_ as the Master of Ren leaves with droid in tow.

Poe doesn't dare blink until the other man has stalked out, the memory and the heat of that red blade lingering long after it is gone. When he's alone, he collapses completely – as much as is possible in his current position, at least – trying to keep his emotions in check. Not wanting to give a show to anyone who might still be watching.

Not wanting to think about the very real possibility that he's just sent the whole galaxy to hell.


	2. Impact

Kylo Ren almost can't believe this is happening. How long has he been searching for this very information? How long, and now it is right here, in his grasp? A fraction of a map that needs only the context and then he can follow the dotted line to the abomination, his so-called uncle?

He stalks through the corridors towards his chamber, ignoring the occasional tweet and twoop at his ankles, knowing the astromech will follow him. The doors close behind him, and he looks down.

"Can you interface with the mainframe to read for the system information without leaving the map you possess in the records?"

The droid replies that it can, a rotation that might be a dejected nod, if you squint and anthropomorphise.

"Do it."

He gives BB-8 access only to those parts of the system, the star charts and not the communications relay. It would not do for him to signal the Resistance now. He isn't wholly sure why he wants to keep the fact he's found the map secret, but he feels the urgency tickling at the edges of his mind, and he decides there must be a reason.

As the droid works, Ren drops into his meditation pose, his black cloak swooping over his calves and ankles. Eyes closing, he uses the burned and broken helmet before him to focus his attention.

"Speak to me, grandfather. Tell me what I should do."

If he were a good follower, he would go immediately to the holochamber and announce his achievements to the Supreme Leader. No doubt Snoke would send him to dispatch with the last Jedi, and he would complete his training and ascend.

Ascend… how? Once Luke is dead, what will be the next step? Snoke. That is how these things work: the Apprentice has to outgrow the Master. With no more Jedi, there will be only one thing left for Ren to do.

And Snoke will know that, too. Kylo's usefulness might well be at an end, and he will be as in danger as the Jedi had been. So it would be better to conceal the discovery – for now – and deal with Luke first. If the droid lets knowledge of the path leak out, then anyone in the First Order with the right level of access could find out. Could try to beat him to it, could steal this victory from him. Or, worse… tell the Resistance.

No. He has to keep this to himself. He flicks his eyes open, a tiny nod of his head to the funeral mask of Darth Vader himself. He calls Captain Phasma and has her prepare his Upsilon shuttlecraft with his (mostly) regular staff.

BB-8 alerts him with a querulous tone, and he turns to the droid. "Very well. We shall bring your former Master with us to see what you have found."

***

The first Poe knows of all this is when the door finally opens again, and two stormtroopers step in. He can't tell how long he's been alone in here, and he's not sure whether being hauled out again constitutes a good thing or a bad thing.

Probably a bad thing. Though at least right now he only has the troopers to contend with, and not…

Y'know. Not _him_.

The time alone has afforded him some opportunity to recuperate, but he still aches all over, and the sudden movement doesn't help with that. The stormtroopers unbind him from the chair, only for one of them to immediately cuff his hands again, the other keeping a blaster trained on him.

What, precisely, do they think he's going to do? He wishes he knew.

Then he could do it.

And then they're moving, cold grey corridor after cold grey corridor (seriously, the First Order has the same problem as the Empire did when it comes to the decor) until they reach that vast hangar bay at the base of the _Finalizer_.

"Oh goodie," Poe drawls, "are we going on a trip somewhere?"

"Silence, prisoner. Keep moving," the trooper on his left snaps back.

Clearly not another Finn in the making, then. Pity.

The troopers hustle him aboard the ship (and damn it if the Upsilon-class range isn't impressive to look at) and straight into the bridge, pushing him into one of the chairs and – oh, lovely – cuffing him to it.

"Tell your boss not to keep me waiting this time," Poe says, because he can.

It does get him cracked about the head with the barrel of the nearest trooper's blaster, but it's still worth it for the sigh of exasperation his colleague doesn't quite manage to hold in.

Some days you have to make your own fun.

Poe does not have long to wait, mostly because this has to happen quickly. In order to go unnoticed, Kylo wants to get out and into hyperspace before Hux even knows the prisoner has been moved.

It would be easier if he had more loyal stormtroopers to rely on, but they are not – as a breed – known for it.

He stalks onboard, footsteps softer than a man his height has any right to, and onto the bridge. Behind him the little droid rolls quickly to keep up. When it sees Poe, its lone optical focal lens turns up towards him, calling out in concern.

"Enough," Ren tells it. "Interface with the navigational system. Plot the course."

"Hey, buddy," Poe says to the droid, pointedly ignoring Ren for the moment. "You doing OK?"

BB-8 bleeps several times, but softly, sadly, and then does as Ren has ordered. And that hurts to watch, even though Poe doesn't resent the little droid for it.

On the contrary, this is still the best choice they have. Though that doesn't make things any better.

"This the part where you buy me dinner?" Poe asks, eyes now flicking in Ren's direction. And, seriously, why can he not stop baiting the man? It's like a compulsion.

"You will only be rewarded if you choose to follow the correct path," Kylo answers, and he sounds much calmer, now. Superficially calmer. Less rage, anyway; other emotions take prevalence this time. "You will find the First Order rewards loyal adherents much more richly than your weak and pitiful Resistance."

If Poe could read minds the way Kylo could, he'd find right now that everyone else on the bridge starts thinking very, very loudly about the strangest of things in an attempt to keep any suspicion of disloyalty off their shoulders.

It's not that any of them _are_ disloyal. On the contrary, Phasma makes sure his detail are the most devout and driven. It's more a case of natural selection. Even the slightest flicker of sarcasm in their internal life could spell death or dismemberment.

There's a loud ch-ch-chirrup from below that indicates the course is locked, and one of the troopers announces it in Basic. Ren nods slightly to order the pilot to engage, and the shuttle picks up from the hangar bay floor smoothly.

Poe opts to go back to not talking for a while. He considers commenting on the pilot's flying (better than the last time he was in this thing, but still indicative of someone not sharp enough to fly a fighter) and then he contemplates wondering aloud why there's so few of them going down to the planet and why the First Order isn't attacking en masse.

And _then_ he remembers that the damn not-Sith can probably tell what he's thinking, so he reverts to an old memory: skimming across the treetops of Yavin 4, the first time he piloted an A-Wing on his own. The controls beneath his fingertips, so light and sensitive, and that feeling of being truly, gloriously free…

If Ren is listening, so be it. Probably do him good to think about something other than murder and torture for a while, even second-hand.

The crew works in silence for a long while, no one daring to say anything non-essential whilst their Master is on the bridge. For the most part, they are used to it, and it is not unpleasant for them.

On the viewscreen the universe goes past in a blur of stars streaking their light into one, continuous river. In hyperspace things are… different, somehow. The computing system takes over control, and there is nothing to do but exist in waiting.

"Did you meet him?" Kylo asks, his tone seemingly off-hand. He does not direct his words to anyone, does not even turn his mask away from the screen. He does not need to.

The question takes Poe by surprise, if only because it isn't – for once – accompanied by a direct threat. He considers not answering, though somehow that level of petulance doesn't feel appropriate right now.

"Luke Skywalker?" he says, after a moment. "Yeah. I met him. Couple of times when I was a kid. Why?"

"He is much more disappointing than the petty stories told of him," Kylo answers. It is always different, knowing the 'Legends' up close and personal. Sometimes a little voice says it would be the same with-- **no**. A fist clenches, holds tight, then releases.

"They only tell you the things they wish you to hear."

"As opposed to what?" Poe snaps back, a defensive edge getting the better of him. Skywalker was a hero to his parents, too. To his mother. "Some distant maniac urging you to kill a lot of people? Why don't you start thinking for yourself again?"

"It is when I began thinking for myself, instead of following, cowed in his shadow, that I became free." If Ren says it often enough, it will be wholly true. "They drip-feed you lies from the day you are born, indoctrinate you and punish you if you ever ask: **why**."

The troopers wisely shut off their ears to the best of their ability, trying to remain innocuous as the furniture. (Which also sometimes is a casualty of war, around Ren.)

"I remember you from back then, too," Poe says, voice softening now. "You were better than this. You were…" A sad little sigh, the exhaustion of the present mixed with old, old memories. "You were better."

"I was weak." It is not often Ren says 'I' of that person, that person he _was_. The words trip out before he can stop them, but he corrects his mistake hastily: " _He_ was weak. **I** am powerful. I am stronger in the Force, and I will kill Luke Skywalker."

And then Snoke. Both Masters. He tries to quiet that thought down, not wanting to alert his current leader to his disloyal thoughts.

"True strength comes from emotion, not from denying who you are. The Jedi would rather be droids than people."

"You're the one denying who you are," Poe points out. He is not a Jedi and he is certainly no expert in their ways and tenets, but he likes to think he knows people. Likes to think he could know _this_ person, on some level, and…

…OK, wait, what? This maniac who was literally torturing him not hours ago?

Maybe he's still delirious. That would explain a lot.

Kylo Ren turns on his heel, his cloak whirling slightly around him. Much shorter, more practical, but still an exercise in intimidation. He faces the man tied to the chair, his visored eyes scanning him from head to toe.

Here, a prisoner, his will broken and his own droid surrendered up in offering to someone greater than himself.

"I am the scion of Darth Vader himself, the most powerful Sith known." He was. He could have killed the Emperor, Kylo is sure. It was only that he had no real love of the politics, or because he was waiting for his own Apprentice that he had not struck down Palpatine where he stood.

"That is who I am: the Master of the Knights of Ren. With just a thought, I can do this…"

'This' being make every last trooper on the bridge reach for their sidearms and hold the barrels pressed to their skulls.

For a moment, Poe thinks of Finn, and of this ship full of too many others who could be just like him, and despairs a little at how callously the First Order treats its soldiers. Nothing but fodder. There to die, or to make a point. He could never be so heartless to his own people, even if he were a general and they his front-line troops.

He learned from the best.

"Go ahead," Poe says, voice still soft, even though he doesn't mean a word of what he's saying right now, and the snark is starting to creep back in. "Then at least they'll be spared your incessant prattle."

And it will just be you and me. Not that this would even the odds. But. Well…

"Would you like that?" Ren asks, head cocking to one side, tone curious. None of the troopers so much as flinch or waver. "Would you enjoy seeing so many dead? Tell me: what drives a man to pilot a flying gun?"

"The need to protect his people," Poe answers. This, he does not have to justify, to Kylo Ren or to anyone else. "To fight for what he believes in. For what's right." A quirk of a smile. "And also because I'm damn good at it."

"Or because you enjoy the death: how close to it you skirt, how much of it you deal? You tell yourself that you serve a higher power, but there is no higher power than yourself."

Ren strides closer, head tilted down to look at Poe, and Force tendrils weave around his face to tilt it up, left, right, centre. "The elation you feel when you see a shot land. You take pleasure in the killing, and you seek to deny this knowledge."

Oh, but that's unsettling. Poe fights to keep his expression level, staring right at where he thinks Ren's eyes must be, behind the mask. "No. I take no pleasure in the killing. It's a necessity, nothing more. And that's the difference between us. If this conflict was over, I could stop. You couldn't."

No pleasure. _None?_

"Once I succeed, then I will need kill no more," Ren points out. If all his enemies were dead, he would not need to kill anyone else. Control? Yes. Kill? No. "You are simply concealing your true motivation. I… am honest."

The blasters all clatter to the floor, the troopers shaking their heads through the mild confusion of a post-Force compulsion.

"Tell me, what is it you think you truly want, Pilot Dameron?"

Poe can't deny a sense of relief at seeing all those stormtroopers drop their guns. He doesn't admit it out loud, but he knows that won't hide it all the same.

"I want a galaxy free of tyranny. Free of people who think they can take what they want through brute force, regardless of who suffers. Free of people who would gun down an entire village of innocent people just because they _could_. Free of people like _you_."

There's a hint of venom in this last part. Poe can't quite help it.

Now there really is amusement in Ren's voice. "Then you would want the galaxy empty of all things capable of even the slightest decision." A flick of his hand and the restraints holding Poe in place slide open.

He does not control his actions, then: he leaves him to choose for himself. At least to begin with.

"It is the nature of life to survive, to thrive, and to reproduce. It is for those who are strong to take what they want. Only that which is useful should remain. Those villagers were not useful. They were not powerful. They were nothing." Beneath his mask, his lips curl into a smile. "Are you 'nothing', Poe Dameron?"

The sudden, small liberation takes Poe by surprise, and instinct makes him leap to his feet, letting the restraints clatter to the floor. He's aware, on some level, that his chances are still slim, but this is an improvement, and he needs to run with it.

The trouble is, he can't ignore the other man's words. "I'd rather be nothing than be like you. Better to die unsung than to live forever as a curse on the lips of others."

It is possible he is talking about Darth Vader right now, which makes it a monumentally bad idea. And pride alone might explain his urge not to back down, but… no. There's definitely more to it. He just doesn't know what, yet.

"Then you shall die unsung, unmourned. In generations to come, you will be nothing but dust. A minor annoyance to an eye, or to a mechanical part, then gone. Your legacy will be as the billions of others before you whom no one knows."

Ren's hand reaches for thin air, curling around it, and drags Poe forwards by the belt around his waist. "You are the space between words, not the words themselves. Your only meaning comes from delineating the space between two Masters. I will kill you once you realise this truth, for you are too weak-minded to understand real power."

On the final word he throws the shorter man against the bulkhead, hard enough to risk joints and bones. When he slides down, he ignores him. Several troopers glance worriedly at one another, not liking the thought of an unrestrained prisoner, but Kylo is confident enough in his ability to consider Poe as fettered now as he was before.

For the moment, Poe stays down. Contrary to current indications, he is not actually an idiot, and the impact is more than painful enough to dissuade him from trying to leap straight back to his feet. Instead, he glowers up at the other man, all open hurt and big dark eyes. And not doing it deliberately. No.

"And that's what you're not getting. I don't need all that. I don't want it." I couldn't have it if I did, but that's beside the point.

Tiny people with their tiny dreams. A man with reflexes as quick as – as – and he wants nothing more than **peace**? Kylo's gorge rises in disgust, and his attention wanders to the console declaring their ETA. Moments. Moments, and they will land at last.

This temporary distraction will be over, and he will rise, bathed in blood and glory.

"Then your desires are a small as your willpower. It is no wonder you broke so easily and surrendered your droid to me. Perhaps I will send you to Luke, first, as a peace offering. Make you walk up to embrace him, then blast your own brains out over his robes. Then you will know this nothing-world you so crave. Peace is a lie the infirm tell themselves in order to appease the knowledge of their insignificance."

Poe keeps his eyes upwards, staring Ren down. "He'll kill you, you know," he says, as soft and sure as he can manage. "He killed Darth Vader. You won't even pose a challenge in comparison."

And hey, why not just go for the man whilst he's at it? Especially when all those stormtroopers so helpfully dropped their blasters moments ago, and one has been too busy flying the ship to retrieve his. Still on the ground, Poe darts sideways, seizing the blaster and firing upwards.

He should shoot the stormtroopers. He knows that. But it's Kylo Ren he aims at.

Fury thunders through Ren's head at those words, the knowledge that he's thought the same thing many times… but the Apprentice always strikes down the Master. So it was with Luke, and so it will be with him. **He will win**. He _has_ to win.

The momentary distraction is enough to allow Poe to reach the blaster (not because Kylo almost-wishes he would just shoot him, not because a tiny voice in him cries out for the end), but he swirls at once and lifts his hand.

Blaster-bolts are energy, and energy is the same as any other thing in the galaxy. He halts the momentum, the resulting backwash of power an electric tingle in his body, one he's long-since accustomed to. It frazzles in mid-air, sparking and caught in a moment, like time is nothing but a plane to be mastered the same as X, Y or Z.

"Your attempts at suicide are noted," he growls, and then the blaster-bolt zips _backwards_ , halting mere millimetres away from the pilot's forehead. It refuses to move further, tickling static charge out to the stray tendrils of hair. "But you will die when I choose it, not before."

The bolt suddenly explodes, though… not. The energy flares out as if it has made contact with something, but in reality the charge simply dissipates into the air. Then Poe is pulled forwards – his body dragged faster than it was meant to go, faster than is wise – until he is made to drop to his knees in front of the Ren Lord. The blaster clatters from his hand, and Kylo throws his full mental weight into an assault on his mind.

Which hurts. A lot. Though the satisfaction of having caused trouble – again – is more than enough to spur Poe on, even now. He lets that feeling, that knowledge, run through him, just so it will be there when…

…Oh, but _that_ hurts so much more, and he can't hold back a shout of pain as the other man pushes into his head again. "Do it," he half-gasps, half-growls, back to staring up at him. "Come on. Do it!"

Because, on some level, he knows Ren can't. Or… no. Won't. He definitely _could_. And that knowledge is like the feeling Poe gets in flight, executing a turn at the very last moment, so close to an obstacle that he could almost reach out and touch it. Daring. Recklessness. One of those.

"I. Decide." The words resonate around in the world, and deep inside the older man's head: an echoing that seems to come from all directions at once. "I am in control."

There, in the corner of the eye. There, in the front and centre of your vision. There, slipping and sliding through your deepest, darkest fears. "But you already know that. You already know that I am more powerful than you, and yet you push. Do you…" louder, the sound of Ren's heart pulsing faster, too, "… _enjoy_ this? Your position, your lack of control? Is that why you signed away your life to a scrap of metal: to follow orders and not think for yourself?"

He reaches out, grabs hold of Poe's hair to strengthen the bond, though he doesn't need to. He feels the flickers of memories and responses as soon as they cross the other's mind. "You enjoy being someone else's weapon, their tool. You think it gives you a purpose which you cannot find for yourself…"

Poe can feel his mind slipping deeper, forced by the other man's will, yes, but lulled under by his words, too. By the strength of him, the certainty – flawed and misguided though it is – and… and…

The world has gone hazy again, like it did before but different at the same time. The resistance drops out of him, even though he can still feel the urge, deep down, to keep fighting back. To resist. To struggle.

To pay the price for it.

To… OK, wait, _does_ he enjoy this on some level? The thought is so alien and so insane that he can't get it to actualise. Can't get it to come into focus. But… it's there. Something he's never engaged with, never thought about, never made part of his life, and yet…

And yet.

And what is it about that hand in his hair that makes him… makes him feel…

"Stop," he whispers. A plea, now, and not an insistence. He doesn't want to think about it anymore. Not here. Not like this.

"Some are made to lead, and others to follow." Ren's voice is different, this time: the rage and anger gone elsewhere for the moment. No less heated, no less impassioned, but drawing from a different well.

A space a Jedi is not supposed to draw upon, a craving and a need he was meant to deny. His leathered fingers wind tighter, and he holds Poe in place only through the fingers in his mind and those in his hair: nothing freezes his limbs into position, because nothing _needs_ to.

"Those who cannot lead must convince those who can that they are worth keeping alive. Not all can lead. Some **must** follow."

And he would, wouldn't he? Kylo can feel that, now. Can feel how this speaks to something in the man, the same way he'd found his own calling impossible to resist. The door was open, and in came the Dark. In came the _need_ , the knowledge of who you were, what you wanted. The pilot is no Force-sensitive for him to apprentice, but he does have some… talents.

"I won't follow you," Poe gasps. The pain in his body hasn't faded, hasn't stopped burning through him, but it's duller now, and not just through familiarity. "I won't." But the words still don't constitute an insistence. It's more of a… hope.

Why does he feel like this? What is the man doing to him?

In the corner, BB-8 lets out a little bleep of alarm. It cuts into Poe's mind – because there is nothing to stop it – but he processes it as concern for his wellbeing, for his mental state, and not for anything more immediate.

Poe looks up. Looks at Kylo Ren. About to give voice to something else fundamentally unhelpful.

And then, seemingly from out of nowhere, the shuttlecraft is struck by weapons' fire, raking along the port wing, sending sparks flying from several of the internal consoles as the whole ship shakes violently.

Focus. Focus will always be his enemy. Concentrate your mind on the subject at hand, and things elsewhere fall apart. Kylo lets go of the pilot's hair (when did he do that? He can't… recall…) and ignores him, storming to the trooper in control of the ship.

" **REPORT**."

"Sir, we're taking heavy fire from a battery of surface-to-air missiles. Our propulsion engines are hit, the shields are failing, and--"

The trooper is cut off by a sudden bright light across the bow of the ship, the screen darkening a second later to compensate. The troopers and the Force-user's helmets save their eyes, but only just. The smell of burning components fills the air as smoke starts to billow into the bridge.

"Return fire!"

"All primary systems failing, Sir! I c--"

Kylo chokes the refusal out of him, and stares at the panels. Catastrophic failure. The weapons offline (for now, at least) minimal shields, limited engine-power… the shuttle is going down. One way or another, it is going down. "Send a distress call," he barks, though it might not even get out. "Land the ship safely."

With the Force he yanks the astromech towards himself, and turns, intent on making ground in one of the escape pods instead.

Still caught in the shock of what's just been happening, coupled with that unwelcome burst of light, it takes Poe a moment longer than he would like to react to the chaos. When he finally manages to pull himself to his feet, blinking in pain, some other kind of urge has kicked in, and suddenly he's all business.

He grabs hold of Ren's shoulder, not to attack him but to get his attention. "Let me fly. I can do it. Let me fly and I'll get us down alive."

There's no deceit in his words. No hidden agenda. His instinct is to save people if he can.

The touch is a shock (no one, **no one** touches Kylo Ren. Ever.) and for the longest moment (that really is only seconds) he flinches back, cowers away from the sense-memories it invokes. He looks down at the hand, then up at Poe's face.

Their connection was severed so quickly that he can't even recall the moment it happened, now. One moment there, the next… burning plasteel and insistent, mechanical cries for attention. He can't even sense any great presence on the planet below, his attention only on the craft and its inhabitants.

Fly. He's going to need a pilot to fly the escape pod. He was going to drag one of the stormtroopers, but as the blasted fools don't seem to know how to avoid being _shot at_ … a tiny nod is the only answer as Kylo Ren stomps off the bridge and across the short distance to the pod. They're designed to work automatically in the event of an emergency, but there are still enough mechanics in them to allow for semi-controlled sentient descent.

BB-8 seems to approve of the decision, at least, chittering in relief as he follows in Ren's wake. The three of them clamber into the pod – Darksider, astromech, and somewhat battered prisoner – the door clunking shut behind them as Poe slips into the pilot's seat, flipping switches like a man who knows precisely what he is doing.

He has never flown an Upsilon-class escape pod before. This does not mean he does not know how. Once you know how to fly something, you can fly anything. More or less.

"Hold on," he calls out, yanking the release above his head and sending the pod plummeting out of the shuttle without waiting a second longer. If those troopers manage to land the main ship, it will mostly be out of blind luck, and Poe knows it.

Maybe he should have stayed. Tried to save them all. But… no. No.

Weapons' fire rakes past the pod, missing by little more than inches as Poe pulls off a tight barrel-roll. The pod is not maneuverable. It is not armed. But that won't stop him.

And he is, under no circumstances, showing off.

Ren curses because he did not – apparently – hold sufficiently 'on'. The idiot clearly thinks he's in his metal death-trap, not an _escape pod_. And the litany of abuse and the sudden, static crackle of his power (do not turn your sabre on, do not, do not) show for his mood.

Not a good mood. Not even by his standards.

"Land it with us still _alive_ ," he snaps, bracing his arms and legs as he takes his seat. "And quickly. We will not look like debris if you keep being so dramatic."

"Which one of us is the ace pilot?" Poe quips back. He feels much, much braver like this, back behind the controls of a ship – even this tiny thing – rather than facing up to _whatever_ was happening just before they were first shot at. "Sit tight and concentrate on how much you like murdering people, and let me do what I'm best at."

He lets another burst of weapons' fire rake close to them – close enough to flash past the windows, filling the inside of the pod with light – and then deliberately rolls the ship again, angling it sharply downwards as though it _had_ just been hit.

"Brace yourself!" he calls out, and promptly cuts the power to the port-side thrusters.

And oh, but that lurch in his stomach is just too much fun.

Kylo Ren does _not like_ surrendering control. Not ever. To anyone. At all. It is bad enough entrusting the movements of the _Finalizer_ or his shuttle to a pilot, but those have rather more facilities and amenities on board to facilitate your survival. Like, say, escape pods. Such as this one.

He cannot predict the pitch and yaw, even if he tries to follow the other's hands. Perhaps if he slipped back into his mind, but… right now he needs him to be himself. Needs Poe Dameron for what Poe Dameron is good at: flying things.

His stomach lurches unhappily as they plummet in one go, and he considers asking if he's _mad_ , or if he's trying to crash them into the planet to rid the world of Kylo Ren, or… (why didn't he consider that possibility before?). Ren jumps to his feet, grabbing the rear of Poe's chair and jabbing anew into his mind. He has to know, has to be certain that this isn't some elaborate murder-suicide. Dameron might lose some of his skill, controlled like this, but if it means he survives, Kylo will take that risk.

The sudden intrusion makes Poe tense up, hands slowing over the console for a moment as he automatically struggles against Ren pushing back into his mind. For an instant, he wants to lash out – physically, verbally, anything – but he ignores the impulse, ignores the instinct. Concentrates. Concentrates. _Pilots_.

"Let me go," he says, not a plea, not a demand, just a request. A firm request, but a request nonetheless. "I'm not trying to get us killed. I promise you. Just let me do this."

Kylo Ren does not want to die. He does not. No more so than the average person does, and facing it this close, at the hands of a Resistance pilot and the unforgiving surface below… fear sparks hot and icy in his gut. He rushes through the surface thoughts again, needing to assure himself that Poe wants to _live_ , his efforts brutish and clumsy, but effective. He sees no evidence of that self-immolating desire from before and he pulls out as sharply as he entered.

Although it's possible he did so too late. He looks at the monitor and sees how close they are to landing, and all of a sudden he flares out with the Force: using that panic and desire for life to cocoon them from the worst of the damage.

Or… for as long as he can hold out the bubble against the impact and something smashing into his temple, anyway.

Poe fights the controls all the way down, though it becomes suddenly, shockingly easier when Ren yanks back out of his mind. Or, it does, once the few seconds of intense disorientation have worn off.

The trouble is, those few seconds are critical and, suddenly, there's nothing he can do, and it's like the first time he had to ditch in his X-Wing only much, much worse.

"Brace for im–" he shouts, events cutting him off as the pod slams into the ground. For a moment, he's conscious of it all, and then something explodes in front of him, and reality goes black.

This is becoming a truly wretched week.


	3. Survival Instinct

The first thing Poe is aware of, when the world starts to blur back into view, is the acrid smell of burning, of a ship that is most definitely no longer spaceworthy. He blinks a few times against it all, head spinning with the recent impact, trying to remember – again – where he is and why he is and…

At his side, he hears BB-8 bleeping in alarm, and the sound jolts him back to full awareness. He's in the battered remnants of the escape pod, parts of which seem to be on fire, and all of which is very much out of service.

All right. All right. He knows the drill. Step one: get out.

"Hold on, buddy, hold on," he says to BB-8, yanking the release on his crash restraints and then cursing as he drops sideways, his right arm completely failing to hold him up the way he'd intended. He stares at it, the pain finally insisting on his mind, realising that there's a deep gash at the top of his arm, stretching almost from elbow to shoulder, and it's wet with blood.

"Not good, not good, not good," he murmurs under his breath, trying to keep himself lucid. Somehow, he staggers upright – at least his legs seem to be working OK – and goes to tug the main hatch open. Bright sunlight spills in through it, and Poe raises his uninjured arm to shield his eyes for a moment, whilst they adjust to the glow.

And… well. Then there's the matter of the man who is still on the ground. Poe is not sure if Kylo Ren is conscious, but if he is then he's doing a good job of hiding it. For a moment – a long, not-entirely-guilty moment – Poe considers running for it. Considers leaving the man to his fate. This _is_ the not-Sith's fault, after all.

But… no. He can't. Poe sighs in resignation, pushes the hatch as wide as it will go, and reaches down to the unconscious, black-clad man.

BB-8 beeps some more.

"I can't leave him, OK?" Poe says, knowing how insane he sounds. "Just… let's get out of this pod, first."

The droid regards him for a moment and then swivels, clunking itself out of the pod and leaving the way clear for Poe to follow, hauling Kylo Ren along with him. Moving them both a good distance from the still-smoking pod, in case it's planning on exploding.

And as he does, he can finally get a look at where they've landed. He doesn't know the name of the planet, and he doesn't recognise it, but the terrain here is hot and a little humid; not quite tropical, but close. The place where they've crashed seems to be some kind of huge ruin, and Poe jumps a little when he realises they're in the middle of a vast, long-crumbling – and mercifully empty – amphitheatre. The central plaza is circled by a ring of huge, humanoid statues, most of them worn down to the torso at best.

And one of them still smoking rather a lot, as if it was just struck by the escape pod from an Upsilon-class shuttle, piloted by a man with a Force-user in his damned head.

Speaking of which…

Poe lies Kylo Ren out on the rough ground. The other man is still evidently unconscious, though he's breathing, and from the looks of things he has some sort of injury to his leg. Of rather more concern – if you're concerned about the man, which Poe is most definitely not, no, not even a little – is the fact that Ren has clearly been struck hard on the head, and his helmet does not seem to have protected him as it should.

Well, then. It's going to have to go. Half-lying beside the man, Poe reaches to find the release on his helmet, clicking it open and pulling it off and…

…OK, it's been a really long time since Poe last saw Kylo Ren's face, and…

Focus, focus, focus. Check his pulse or something. That's what you do in these situations, right?

Pain. Bright and glorious. The real, bright, unfettered kind. It screams through Ren's skull like a flock of irate birds pecking at the bone. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. But that… that's his heartbeat. Right?

Kylo wants to move, but finds he can't. In the half-awake groggy nightmare, he's plagued by the horrible sensation of being stripped bare. He feels as though his very skin is flaying from his bones, leaving nothing but calcium sticks, a grinning, eyeless skull and the echoes of nerve-paths and Force-currents.

H-helmet… head… **no**. Bright brown eyes (almost black, the pupils blown) flicker open and see the world without a filter. It hurts his head even more, and in a panic he grabs for the hand near his neck.

Words. He should say those. He tries to, but it's somehow impossible to do anything but open his lips and gasp something incoherent and half-terror, half-anger. No. _No_. He tries to sit up, needing… needing…

…why is everything so dull and distant, and yet so bright and stringent? It feels as if the sliders of the world are out of joint: too much contrast, not enough middle. Half the image unsent, the mind filling in the gaps between and making a mess of it. Kylo grabs for Poe's arm, another attempt at speaking, though he hasn't worked out _what he wants to say_.

Does the man never stop? Poe is not exactly surprised when Ren jumps awake, and he's not surprised when the man tries to grab hold of him. He slips his hand free the first time, but the second time connects with the wound on his own arm, making him hiss in pain.

"Calm down," he insists, trying to make the dangerous Darksider keep still. "Calm down. You have a concussion."

This day is getting stranger.

Ren should feel the pain. Poe's pain. He hears the hiss and his brain processes that, but it… it's like… things are dampened. Quiet. It's like something vital is missing. Kylo uses the man in front of him to climb up into a seated position, grabbing for his helmet and clawing at the ground.

It's… it's the **Force**. He can't feel it. Or… or if he can… it's distant. Not there, the ever-present comfort, the safe bubble of protection and power. Bubble. He'd… he tried to save them. It… you… couldn't burn yourself out, could you?

He knows the old Jedi Council had practiced the art of cutting individuals off from the Force, but… spontaneous loss?

"I-- I need…" His words slur on the way out, his tongue heavy and his voice more confused and less resonant without the helmet. He wants to put it back on. He **needs** to put it back on. Maybe that will bring the Darkness back to him?

What _Poe_ needs is to leave this maniac flailing about on the ground and get as far away as possible. He knows he could try. Get up. Run. Might even work, if the other man is disoriented enough.

But… he doesn't. He didn't before and he won't now, and he is clearly, unquestionably insane.

"What you need is to lie still and give yourself a moment to recover," Poe insists. "Take a damned breath and stop…"

Stop what? Panicking? Is Poe concussed too – very probably, to some extent – or is Kylo Ren in the middle of losing it?

_I need the Force_. The words dance around and around in Ren's head, an echo that never dissipates, and he isn't sure if he's said it aloud or not. Fear makes his stomach ache, ache like it did the time he had trichinitis as a child. Eyes going wider still, he realises that without his helmet to mask his face…

"Give it to me." The automatic response in times like this is to layer meaning behind a command: to turn it into one impossible to resist. His voice resonates as it normally would, but he can tell there's something vital missing. "My helmet. **GIVE IT ME**." He grabs for it, falling when the internal balance of his ear says that up is actually somewhere ten degrees over the horizon…

…and promptly lands him flat onto his back, staring up at the sky. His head hurts, his hair is plastered to his face where the wound is still seeping hot, coppery blood… and he can't feel the Force. Not really.

He's… he's… _powerless_.

For a second, Poe is bracing himself for the inevitable jolt of pain that always precedes every time Ren pushes into his mind. Only this time… this time it isn't there.

He blinks. What exactly is going on? The urge to make a run for it flares up again, but even if the moral impulse didn't keep him here, curiosity would.

"Ren," he says, flatly, "you have a concussion and a head wound and if you do not lie still, so help me, I am going to sit on you."

…OK, where exactly did that come from?

Lying down does sound rather good, Kylo thinks, as he blinks to make the world less fuzzy. Was it always like that? Is it the concussion, or did the Force make his vision sharp? "I need my mask," he says, a little more quietly.

He isn't sure how his temper flared from screaming to passive, but it has. He shuts his eyes, turns his head away from the other man. He doesn't want him to see the shame on his face, the… weakness. Without the Force, he is… is nothing. Nobody. A man dressed in black with a head wound and an ankle that feels like it's twisted ninety degrees to the left when it should be straight ahead.

_You should just kill me now_ , he thinks. He does not say this, because he does not (quite) want to die. No point in giving the man ideas. His teeth grind briefly, but that hurts, too, and he stops (not whimpering in pain, no).

Ren doesn't even look around to see where they are, he just… lies. Despondent and immobile.

This is not what Poe would have expected if he'd had the remotest chance to consider it in advance. Not at all what he would have expected. But… it has to be better than what he _would_ have expected.

And, hey, this, he can work with.

"Stay here," he says, perhaps unnecessarily. "I need to see what I can salvage from the pod. Don't try to move too much, not yet."

Without waiting for agreement, or approval, or whatever you wait for in a situation like this, Poe staggers upright and cautiously heads back to the pod. It is still smouldering, but the point at which it was most likely to explode has passed.

BB-8 trundles alongside, whirring and bleeping as they go.

"I know, I know, I'll see to my arm in a moment. It's OK, I promise. I'm going back into the pod. Keep an eye on… on… you know, him."

The droid chirrups a rather feisty approval, and does as instructed. Poe, meanwhile, scrambles back inside the pod, locating the rear storage hatch and pulling it open with his good arm. As the metal cover clangs to the ground, he feels his heart leap with hope. There's a stash of supplies inside, medical and otherwise, and they aren't damaged.

Best damn pilot in the fleet. Even when crashing.

Poe gathers everything up and heads back outside, now wondering how you triage this little scene.

When there isn't a blaster-bolt to the chest or face, or even a crude, blunt object to the cranium, but Poe vanishing off to the pod… Kylo turns his head ever so slowly to watch him go into it. He can see it is unlikely to explode, though he still winces at the thought of it happening.

The weapons will be in there, too. He has his lightsabre, still, and even without the Force he should be able to put up a half-decent fight when the pilot returns. His right hand goes to his hilt, wrapping fingers around a familiar weight, and then his eyes catch the ruined state of his mask.

It really is… ruined. Utterly. A huge gash to the temple, a dent in the eyeplate that might just have saved his vision. He's not sure he wants to know how Poe got it off his head in the first place, but it very likely won't go back on. Not without some _serious_ surgery.

Wonderful. He has to die more Human than Ren Lord. So be it. He slides his thumb over the button, ready to re-ignite the blade, ready to…

…Dameron is taking the whole 'medical' supplies bit seriously. Has he forgotten they're enemies, or is he still lingeringly under Ren's control, or is he just that dumb? He could be in shock, too. This would be the time when he – hissingly – staggers to his feet and throws out his red blade.

"Put the meds and food down."

Poe stops dead in his tracks, but no more. "Are you out of your mind?" he hisses. "I'm trying to help. For once in your life, think with your brain and not your lightsabre."

"You will kill me. So you will give me those supplies." And then you will have more of a reason to kill me. Hmm, possibly Kylo hasn't thought this through. His hand (and the blade) waver slightly as he struggles to stand still.

"If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it whilst you were still unconscious on the floor," Poe points out.

He could have, too. Why didn't he? The other man has spent the last couple of days torturing him. Why _didn't_ he?

"Look." Deep breath. Sensible pilot face. "You still have the upper hand here. I haven't found a blaster in the wreckage," – yet – "and I know what you can do with that sabre. So either kill me or _let me help_."

Ren's leg is agony, and the longer he puts weight on it, the worse it feels. He tries to go through the mantras, through the code, tries to use the pain to his advantage… but he has no Force to channel it into. It's just pain. It has nowhere to go, nothing to truly fuel, and his hand shakes harder. Kylo subtly shifts his weight onto his other foot, but his balance is so badly affected that it leads to him crashing to his knees. His lightsabre protests and glides away and eventually leaves his hand, and the soldier is left swaying like a drunk on treacherous seas.

Kill me. Kill me now. Make it fast. Lie. Pretend I went down fighting. Pretend I didn't crash to my knees and call out in low, coursing pain.

"Do it," he whispers, echoing Poe from mere hours ago. How things had changed. Before: a Master of the Force with the whole First Order at his beck and call. His prisoner shackled and at his very mental mercy. He is here, now: alone, neutered and blind. Unable even to stand, to put up a meaningful fight. Not that a life sundered from the Force would _be_ a life. It is a half-death, an empty thing.

"Do it fast." He has no right to ask for mercy, but his proud face rises, eyes sighting down his generous nose and his dark hair a broken mane about his face and shoulders. "You can be the pilot who killed the heir to the Sith. You can run to your adoptive mother and tell her you won, at last. That she's free to name you child."

To say Poe is taken aback like this would be an understatement and, for a moment, the very real shock registers in his expression, in his eyes, and no level of Force skill whatsoever would be needed to read it.

He knows he _could_ do it. And with the man's own weapon, no less. He knows a lot of people would thank him for it.

He also knows two people who wouldn't.

No. Not two. Three.

"Lie back and let me help," he says, softly. Like he means it. "I'm no medical expert, but I have plenty of field training. And experience. So… let me help."

And then, because they can't stay like this having the galaxy's weirdest standoff, Poe starts to move closer.

Carefully.

Kylo Ren glares at him, hatred and confusion warring over his face. Why won't he do it? It would be a mercy killing, now. Doesn't he see? He can't… he can't do it himself, it would… it would be weaker still. But to die by an enemy's hand… even his first namesake knew the power in that. Jedi or not, there are some things, like death, that can transcend 'sides'.

"Why?" he asks, still kneeling, not reaching for his guttered sabre. He has to blink a few times to focus on the moving-object, and maybe he got hit harder than he thought. "You could do it. You would be lauded. Draped in glory. Even if you don't believe in the joy of death…" Which is stupid, if you ask him, "…I am your enemy. I will slay you. I will…"

Nearly fall over and grab your good arm and end up pushing my head into your chest as I try not to pass out. A wave of pain hits him, and he clutches hard, the slightest tremor in his hand.

"I would show you no mercy." Perhaps the truth. He's tortured the man for countless hours, robbed him of his dignity and agency, but he remembers – just slightly – the panic at the end. The way he'd thrown his net wide enough to protect them both as they fell. It hadn't been a calculated move, it had been one of pure instinct. That… that _part_ of him he hates, that part of him he wishes would just **stop**.

He lifts his head again, and this time sees (now he's closer) the mess that is Poe's arm. And it hurts. It hurts to look at it, but in… in some stupid, crazy way. Not because he can feel the discomfort radiating off him, but because he understands and _empathises_ and **damn it, not now, Kylo. Not. Now**.

Now _that_ takes Poe by surprise. For a second, he doesn't know _what_ to do, and his instinct is to pull away, to let the man fall. Refusing to kill him is one thing, but there's no obligation to be outright _pleasant_ as an alternative. Life is not, in fact, black and white like that.

But… he doesn't pull away. He looks down at the other man, knowing he should hate him and finding he can't.

What is wrong with him?

"You _did_ show me no mercy," Poe points out, softly. Not accusatory. Just a statement of fact. "I guess… I'm better than that."

The touch takes him by surprise, too. For all they've spent quite some time together in the last howeverlong it's actually been, the other man has only ever made physical contact with him on a handful of occasions, and never in any way that could be considered…

…what, exactly? **Good**?

_…except maybe for the way it had felt when he…_

No. No.

"Let me help." Sometimes in life you just have to repeat yourself a lot.

"This changes nothing," is the blurted out response to the offer, as Kylo pulls himself a little further back, awkwardly sitting down with his sore leg moved to one side. It is the only way he can possibly accept any help: if he reasserts that it isn't some deeper significance.

He happens to be hurt. Dameron happens to have supplies. It is… logical.

Even the most stubborn of fools would struggle to deny the sense in it.

Perhaps wisely, he decides not to tell Poe how stupid he is for doing this, how it proves how weak-minded and easily-trampled he is, how he's just a worker-ant. That might be counter-productive right now.

Well. This is progress, right? Poe drops down beside the other man (a little awkwardly, given how much his own arm aches) and pulls open the medkit.

"I'm not gonna do the whole 'this is going to hurt' routine," he says, searching through supplies, finding what he needs. "But it is. And I'm not sorry."

There's still no venom in his voice, though. He keeps trying to summon some up, keeps trying to get himself to give the other man the verbal bashing he so richly deserves. But… somehow he never quite gets there.

Now. Technicalities. Boot off. Clothing pulled up. There is something deeply strange about seeing the other man revealed as flesh and blood, just like everyone else. Just like Poe. (Emphasis, now, on 'blood'. And should he maybe have seen to himself first?)

Bacta. Start with the bacta. There's not nearly enough to fix everything, but he can certainly make quite an improvement on where things currently – for lack of a better word – stand.

"I know pain," Kylo says, his voice a little distant when he does. "But you should probably see to your own injury, first." He can see the blood, the wincing. "You will injure yourself further if you don't."

He wears black socks. Obviously. They might be a little worn in the toe region, mostly because it's hard to get socks in his size, no matter how high up in the First Order he is. It is embarrassing, and he flinches away from the fingers when his boot is removed.

"I don't think it's broken. You should focus on the serious areas of broken skin." He really doesn't like giving up control. Of anything. Ever.

"I know what I'm doing," is all Poe will say to this. Partly because he's concentrating, and partly because it's easier than actually thinking about anything _beyond_ what he's doing.

People _would_ laud him if he killed the other man. He knows it. People would laud him, and he's sure that even General Organa would understand, agonising though the news might be. And not only is he _not_ trying to kill Ren, now he's actively helping the guy.

And still, Poe doesn't stop. He gets the bacta pouch onto the wound on Ren's leg, on the area where the worst of the bruising is beginning to rise, and then – very cautiously – leans in to do the same to the gash on the other man's forehead. And then… he pauses. It all needs a few minutes to work before he can move on to the next step, and he really _should_ see to himself as well.

"Gotta give it time," he points out, for the sake of something else to say. "Might as well deal with this whilst I wait." And he gestures at his own arm. It's a mess of blood, but he's hoping it looks worse than it is.

He does need to check it over properly, though, and that means he needs his shirt out of the way. And OK, yes, he could just pull the gash in it open wider, but he's already down a jacket, and he can't quite bring himself to.

So he simply tugs his shirt off, instead. Unlike Ren, he is not exactly self-conscious. He is a starfighter pilot, and perfectly used to bunking with half a dozen or more other people, of assorted genders.

And… oh, but that still looks bad. BB-8 gives a little chitter of concern, as Poe starts cleaning off the worst of the blood, trying not to wince too much.

Kylo huffs noisily, and grabs one of the sterilised wipes himself. "I know what I am doing, too," he points out.

He's not wholly sure why he isn't just killing the man where he sits, because then any rations and supplies would last longer, but he might need him. For something. And if he's alive, then he should be useful. His eyes don't want to keep on the target, though, and he barely glances at him, the first look being plenty of information about what the man looks like.

It doesn't work so well with gloves on, so he pulls them off and puts them carefully to one side. He throws a glare to the droid and then (efficiently, born of long practice on the battlefield and just after) he patches the worst of the wound up.

"We should ration our supplies accordingly, but also ensure we are fit enough to do the initial reconnaissance and analysis of our surroundings."

_We_. They are a partnership, for now, anyway. He has Poe's blood on his hands, and he swallows and looks up, then busies himself with cleaning it off.

"Works for me," Poe replies. "The survival kit from the pod has field rations for at least a couple of days, but we still need to be careful." A beat. "Will your people come looking for us? Not the guys in the shuttle, if they made it, but… you know. The rest of them."

Hard to say if that would be good news or bad news. Being stuck on this planet is bad. But being 'rescued' by the First Order would likely be worse.

"We… did not make our flight path known. My crew will attempt to send a distress call, but that may or may not get through." If they even made it, Kylo thinks, dismally. "We should also attempt to send ours. I think it is safe to say that whoever set that trap has already been alerted to our presence."

There are hypos with short term analgesics, so he doses first himself, then the other man. "Have you emptied the pod?"

With the painkillers flooding his system, he perks rather quickly. He still grabs for his lightsabre, though, affixing it to his belt.

Poe knows they need to activate the distress beacon. He does. He's just worried about who might respond to it. And… as for the whole _trap_ part… well. He needs to have a little talk with BB-8. In private. To find out if, in fact, the little droid played that whole 'one last card' part for him after all.

But… he's not going to risk mentioning it in front of Ren.

"I got the main emergency stash," he answers, in between hissing a little in pain as he applies bacta to his arm. "I'll go back and check the rest when I'm done with this. And… I'll activate the distress beacon."

He will. Right?

"I assume there has been no contact with my ship since we crashed?" Slipping into the role of Master is second-nature to Ren. He's used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.

Awkwardly, he hobbles towards the pod, next, to see the extent of the damage as Poe finishes his self-ministrations. It's not space-worthy, likely won't ever be again. It did, however, stay mostly intact and now the fires are out, there's shelter and the requisite supplies.

"Have you done any investigations? Droid: have you done a full sensor scan of the area?"

BB-8 beeps, an unimpressed edge to the sound, and then trundles a short distance off to do as instructed.

Once he's done dressing the wound on his arm, Poe pulls his shirt back on and packs up the remainder of the medical supplies.

"No," he calls back, a little flatly, a little dryly, in answer to both questions. "I figured I should make sure you didn't die first."

This is the point at which a normal person would thank him for that part. Poe does not expect it in this case, however.

He scrambles to his feet, pausing a moment and looking around. This place is strange, and – though he's no Force-user – it still makes him _feel_ strange. It's more than that, though. Something about the crumbling ruin screams menace, screams threat.

"I… am not sure what is preventing my access to the Force," Ren admits, slowly. Kylo does not like admitting this weakness, but Poe already knows. And if they are to survive, they should likely pool knowledge. "I am unsure if I can feel traces of it, or if that's simply my mind grasping for memories. It is… unsettling."

More than unsettling. He looks down to his mask again, sadly, and reaches out with the-- oh. Right. He bends awkwardly and picks it up, moving it inside the pod and placing it on a shelf.

BB-8 chirrups for attention, then announces the lack of any nearby sentient life it can identify, but that its sensors seem to be jammed and can't extend past the circular arena.

"There was no information on this planet in the archives. It did not _exist_ in the archives. It was a gap in the sky." Kylo frowns up at the long-worn statuary. "Do you know where you brought us?" he asks, not caring who answers.

Poe is midway through searching the pod – for a blaster, OK, happy now? – when Ren speaks, and he looks over at the man.

"I didn't bring us here," he says. "You did. I was just transporting that map when you took it from me…"

BB-8 chirrups again, in an offhand sort of way, and then calmly says something about how it brought them here; it and a backup plan it found in the recesses of that memory drive. And _then_ it makes a nervous little sound and trundles further out from the pod, leaving Poe still _in_ the pod and feeling suddenly very target-shaped again.

Kylo has yet to put his gloves back on (if the boot and sock were remembered), so it's only his knuckles that creak and groan around a very, very angry squeeze of fresh air. "I see." He paces slowly after the droid, all loom and… okay. It doesn't work so well when you hobble slightly.

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me? Or perhaps your precious pilot? Is your map worth more than his life?"

Out goes the blade, crackling angrily through the air.

Poe drops everything and races back outside. "Leave him alone," he says, more defensive than aggressive, but still a little of the latter. He rushes between the two of them, hand held up. "He's my astro. He was just trying to help me. And I didn't know about this."

Didn't know, but hoped.

And not sorry for it.

Ren doesn't budge, his weapon still buzzing in his hand. "If he wishes to help you further, he will surrender all information about this planet, the 'trap', who laid it and how we get away safely."

BB-8's tone is a little ruder than necessary.

"You can be responsible for his death, then," Kylo pushes.

For once, BB-8 makes a noise something like flatulence. It insists it has no more information.

"Can you get a distress beacon through the interference, at least?"

"I can," Poe insists, still standing defensively in front of his droid, who is peering around his legs. "I can." He's not at all certain of this, but he can worry about that part if and when it becomes an issue. "I'll go take a look at it. Just don't hurt BB-8, OK?"

He lingers a moment, hesitant about moving – even though Ren could cut them both down if he wanted – and then slowly relaxes, going back into the pod, to find the beacon.

And to keep looking for a blaster. Though he's starting to worry that there aren't any.

It takes a few more moments before the electric _vshoom_ indicates Ren's sheathed his weapon, and then Kylo glares at BB-8 for a good minute more.

"If you wish him to live, you **will** co-operate from now on. It is in both our interests to work together, for the time being. He would be slain on sight if my men pick him up without me."

BB-8 considers this, then its lenticular cap dips with a mournful acquiescence.

Satisfied, Ren turns and goes to peer up at the statues. Perhaps if he can work out what this place is, they might have a chance of surviving. Unfortunately age has worn them down to be mere feet on pillars, with twisted, abrupt torsos above. He flicks his blade out to chop down the green foliage from the lowest parts of the pedestals, but it reveals only long-washed stone. He puts his hand on the rock, eyes closing, trying… trying to _feel_ something. Anything. It almost feels familiar, but in the way a half-heard melody might.

It's a few minutes before Poe emerges from the pod again. He looks a mixture of pleased, annoyed and concerned all at once: pleased that the distress beacon seems to be transmitting, now he's got the thing calibrated; annoyed that he still has no weapon, and concerned by the situation as a whole.

Standing in the sunlight, he watches the other man at the base of the nearest statue, studying him for a moment. Ren is clearly trying to understand this ruin. Poe, on the other hand, is trying to understand Ren.

"You got any clue what this place is?" he asks.

"Ritualistic, of some kind or another," Ren says, voice… distant. "It feels…" Strangely reminiscent. He pulls back from the stone, absently tucking his hair behind his ears again.

"If the absence of the Force is deliberate – which it must well be, if this was a trap laid by Master Skywalker – then it seems to be designed to trap those the Jedi deem…" and here his lip curls, "…unworthy."

The sensible move here would be say they need to stay put, close to the pod, close to the beacon. But something about this place – and the other man's reaction to it – tugs at Poe's curiosity.

"You… want to take a look around?" he asks. "See if we can find out a little more?"

"I believe it is no coincidence that one gate is open," Kylo replies, nodding at the single archway unblocked to his left. "If we remain here, we are at the mercy of our would-be rescuers. Or our assassins. We could try to hole up and eke out our supplies, but…"

A flicker of tongue over his lips, a thoughtful expression that just won't… "I would rather go out fighting for my life than pass away from starvation."

"Me too," Poe agrees, in complete honesty. And… OK, fine, on some level his blood is thrumming for an adventure. He can't help it. He manages to keep most of the emotion out of his expression, but some of it is still there.

Plus, it would be far better than sitting here sniping at each other.

"We should take a small inventory with us, and attempt to protect what we leave behind," the strategian in Ren says, tone going calm and sure again. "We should also assess what defence and offence we can provide." He pulls his cloak back from his hip, as if he even needs to mention it again.

Poe practically grins. "My thoughts exactly." He hurries over to the pod again – bounds, one might say, if one was being poetic. And honest – and stashes the bulk of what they have back inside it, save for a collection of essentials, slung in a little bag over his shoulder.

And… OK. One more look. One more quick look. He ducks into the pod, as if checking for something, and searches the last few places he hasn't looked in yet, right up at the front.

Which is when he finds what he's looking for. A blaster. It's only a small handheld, but it's a weapon, seemingly functional and – right now – it's his.

He stashes that in the bag, too. Not wanting to give away that he's got it. Not unless he has to.

"Is your arm adequately healed to carry that?" Kylo asks, when the other man surfaces again. Not that he's offering to… carry bags. No. "We seem to be fortunate in our… spread of injuries."

He pulls out the sabre, though he doesn't ignite it. Such a useful weapon, and one he could not be without, now.

"You worried about me?" Poe replies, with a winning smile. Betraying nothing in his eyes. "No need." He waves with his good arm. "This one works just fine."

And… he stares at the sabre hilt, for a moment, as Ren does. They really are impressive weapons. Not really his style, but impressive.

"I am merely maximising our chances of survival." Ren's eyes flash for a moment, then he storms (sort of staggeringly but not quite) ahead of him through the archway. "Come. We do not know how much light we have."

BB-8 whirls up to Poe, rocking back and forth and waiting for an affirmative to come, too.

Poe looks sideways at the droid, exchanging what might count as a knowing look, and then headtilts. "Damn right I want you to come. I'm not leaving you behind."

This gets him a series of pleased bleeps and whirrs, and then the two set off, astromech at the pilot's heels, towards the archway that Ren has already passed through. Poe is just a little further ahead of BB-8, so he goes through next.

And that's when there's a clunk. He stops and looks back, realising that BB-8 has just run into an invisible wall, right where Poe himself just walked. The droid makes an alarmed sound, swivelling back and taking a second try at following.

And getting stopped again, in exactly the same spot.

"Ah, that's not good," Poe mutters.

Kylo turns, and sees what's happening. "Ah." He walks behind the droid, and uses his foot, only the astromech skitters left and right, not going any further forwards. He tries to pick him up (much to BB-8's alarm) and… no. It's going nowhere.

"It seems we have to leave the droid behind." The Ren Lord does not sound in the slightest annoyed, on retrospect.

At first, Poe wants to argue. Wants to say there's no way he's leaving BB-8 behind. The little astro is his only friend in all this. But… they do need to explore. And if something here is stopping him from accompanying them…

He drops down onto one knee next to BB-8. "I'm sorry, buddy, you're going to have to stay back. Seems this place doesn't want you to come. But… it's OK. It's OK. We won't be gone long. And you can guard the pod for us. Keep a listen out for anyone who might be staging a rescue."

BB-8 chitters sadly, and then bumps lightly against Poe's leg.

"I know," Poe says, softly. "I'll be careful. I promise."

The droid looks between the two men one last time, bleeps something that is weirdly hard to make out, and then trundles back off into the sunlight, in the direction of the pod.

Poe sighs, rising to his feet again. "Well, then. Looks like it's just you and me."

And then there were two. Kylo considers a rude comment about entities dropping like flies, but bites his tongue. "We should get a move on. If the people who created this place are anti-Force and anti-synthetics, then they likely are anti-more things, too."

He squints up at the sun, but it's hard to really tell how fast the shadows are moving. With more observation, the astromech should be able to keep time for them, but he hopes they will be picked up before then.

"Right," Poe agrees. If truth be told, he's a little worried by the implications, but not enough to overcome his desire to explore. "Lead the way."

There is only the faintest hint of snark to his tone at this. Mostly he just thinks the man with the lightsabre should go first, and the man with the very hidden blaster should keep it hidden as long as possible.

Until he needs it.


	4. Wrong & Right

The walk through the forest is a long one.

Without the Force to help him, Kylo knows he won't be able to sense any betrayal before it happens. Should Poe decide to kill him out here, he… has only the same wits that any 'normal' person would. It's a terrifying prospect, but so is being caught by whoever has set anti-Force traps.

He keeps the hilt in his hand, finger tapping close to the button, eyes glancing left and right. It feels strange to use his actual vision for this, not augmented by his visor, or the intangible threads of the universe. It's hot, and the vegetation is an unsettling mix of lurid purple and high-chlorophyll green. His attention snaps this way and that, his head moving to each little snapping noise, almost giving himself whiplash in the process.

Poe walks in silence for a while, his own attention darting around as he watches for any signs of danger, or any indications as to what this place is. The heat is unpleasant, unwelcome, and subtly stronger now they're out of that open amphitheatre.

"You ever seen anything like this before?" he asks, eventually, the silence getting to him somewhat.

There is a pause before the reply. "Perhaps." A noise catches Ren's attention, but when he turns, it looks like some form of small rodent scurrying up a tree.

Harmless. Probably.

"It… reminds me of some of the holovid recreations that… that were part of my initial training," he admits, uncomfortably. "Most of the original Order was lost when my grandfather razed it to the ground." And boy, does he sound proud.

Poe sighs a little. "Why do you enjoy it so much? The thought of all that killing? The destruction of an entire way of life?"

He knows he shouldn't bring it up, but he can't help it. Some things need to be said.

"Because that way of life is abhorrent and wrong." There is no hesitation in Ren's response, and he whirls out his blade with a full three-sixty swing to clear out a large branch that's blocking the path. It takes several sweeps with his sabre to cut through the worst of it. "No one should be subjected to it, and most of the fools were so indoctrinated or bought into the lie and were not worthy of saving."

"Ren. That's insane. Everyone is worthy of saving. You just have to _try_."

There are unspoken levels beneath Poe's words, though he is not in any way planning to elaborate on them.

"Oh, really? So, if someone told you that to become an X-Wing pilot, you would have to give up on emotional connections? That you would have to never care about your wingman, except for how he or she affected the calculus of war?" He turns, now, halting his forward momentum to stare down at the shorter man.

"Do you really think those people are worth saving? The ones who would cut a man's very heart out of his chest?"

"I'd tell them that they had no idea what it means to be an X-Wing pilot," Poe retorts, more calmly than he might have expected, had he the chance to consider it in advance. "The same way you don't seem to know what it means to be a Jedi. I don't claim to understand them the way a Force-user could, but… I know they're not like that. Your thoughts have been twisted against them, manipulated, broken… broken by that man you call Master."

"No." And there it is, deep, roiling anger in that single word. "I haven't. And you don't understand… there _is_ no lee-way, no room for interpretation. The Jedi 'pride' themselves on being above such simple things as **emotion**. And if you happen to be born sensitive to the Force, then you have no choice but to become a heartless, cold automaton."

His nostrils flare around his every breath, his teeth almost audibly grinding. "There is no room in their precious **Code** for people like me. They would rather see me dead, or cut off from the Force; made neutered and _safe_."

"Better to be cut off from the Force than to live your life as a heartless killer," Poe throws back, just a little hotly now. Just a little. "Maybe they are one-track-minded at times, but it's still better than the alternative. Better than falling the way you have."

He sighs, pained. Trying to put himself in the other man's shoes, but always ending up thinking as his family must think, instead. Unable to really grasp why someone would choose this path. "You abandoned people who love you. People who care. Don't you see what a flawed decision that was?"

Ren moves fast, for a man injured. The lightsabre is still humming when he presses the hilt to Poe's chest, the blade shaking in the air next to his face. "You wouldn't know. Would you? Tell me: which of your senses would you surrender, in order to feel love? Would you like to never hear the voice of your child, or would you prefer to never gaze upon your beloved's face as you make love to them by the fire? Removing **me** from the Force would be like taking away _your_ sense of depth, of timing. It is a _punishment_ , not a solution."

The blow about his family is low, and his eyes slit angrily in response. "They abandoned me long before. Gave me up to a distant uncle like a bantha to be trained for the saddle. They only noticed I was **gone** when bodies started to drop, but I'd been missing for years before."

The lightsabre makes Poe go very still, not daring to move in case it gets him hurt again, intentionally or incidentally. He knows he's pushing the matter. Knows he's saying too much, asking too much, but… he needs to. He's trying to understand the other man, and he can't. Not really. And it isn't about not being a Force-user himself, though he realises that probably doesn't help. He simply cannot fathom what would drive a person to that level of cruelty. Of hate.

But that red blade makes him feel something else, too. Awake. _Alive_. He doesn't know why – isn't sure he _wants_ to know why – but he can't deny it, not to himself.

Out loud would be another matter.

"They wanted to make you great," he says. "As all good parents do. They wanted you to be next in the most powerful line of Jedi to ever grace the galaxy. To live up to that incredible lineage of yours."

Incredible, terrible. On the one hand, Luke Skywalker. On the other… Darth Vader. But even Darth Vader was a great Jedi once, a long time ago.

"For who? For me?" Ren tosses his head, hair flaring in the process. (Another reason a helmet is necessary.) "No. If they asked me what I wanted, or gave me the chance to _truly_ choose, I would never have agreed to becoming a **slave**." The blade stays perfectly still, and Kylo leans over it, close enough that his words brush over the other's cheek.

"Another grand story for the dinner table. My father: the smuggler turned war hero. My mother: the politician, turned war hero, turned stateswoman. My uncle: the farmhand turned Jedi Master. What choice do you think I had? Eyes on me wherever I went, whispers behind my back… my life was never my own to lead until I **took it**."

Poe keeps his eyes on the other man's, trying not to flinch. Trying not to recoil. The proximity between them is intoxicating, now. Hypnotic. And…

…OK, wait, what? No. No, no, no. Change of plan. Deny it all to himself, too. Focus. Focus. Eyes on the target.

Or better. Elsewhere. Elsewhere. _Skimming over treetops, arcing up, a perfect loop, weightless, invulnerable…_

"And now that you have?" he pushes. Firm. Determined. Slightly asking for it. "Now that you've taken a different path, abandoned your destiny, become this person, this _monster_ , of your own making… do you feel accomplished, truly? Was it worth it?"

"Now any mistakes I make are my own." It is an ambiguous answer, but an answer all the same. Ren twists the hilt, so the pommel presses into Poe's shoulder. It pushes the blade slightly further away from his face, but only marginally.

"I am Master of my own destiny. I am Kylo Ren." The blade cuts out, and the not-Sith steps back.

Poe doesn't dare speak again until the other man moves. The trouble is, he _does_ speak then, and apparently he's not planning to stop this any time soon.

"You are no Master. You are merely the apprentice to a more accomplished murderer. And when he's done using you to get to your family… he'll cast you aside."

And if Poe sounds a little hot and defensive as he says this… so be it.

Kylo stops. Dead still. And then the blade flicks back out, and slices a figure eight in the nearest tree, letting it fall. The trunk makes an arcing path towards Dameron, and if he had his powers… well. Kylo would show off a little more delicately than he does, now.

Instead, he punches the falling timber, close-fisted, and it falls mere inches to the right of Poe's head. "I am **Kylo Ren** ," he repeats. "Master of the Knights of Ren, the Jedi-Killers. I am strong in the Force – as strong as Darth Vader himself. And I will finish what he started. The Grand Leader's plan is **not** mine. _He_ will rue the day he ever called me Apprentice."

OK. That's impressive. It _is_ impressive, and Poe doesn't have to defend the thought, not to himself. Just because the other man is a mass-murdering maniac, it doesn't mean some of the things he does can't be…

…Stop thinking like this. Stop thinking like this. Stop…

He doesn't flinch too badly – his reflexes being enough to tell him that Ren isn't trying to kill him – but there's far too much given away in his eyes. Fear. Revulsion. Pity.

Awe.

No, no, no.

"You don't have the Force in here," Poe says. His voice is shaking just barely, a tremor that betrays awareness of how close he's playing this. You can only dance along the edge of a star for so long before you risk being caught in a flare. "You don't have the Grand Leader, or your stormtroopers, or your fleet. You certainly don't have Darth Vader. So what are you without them? What are you **right now**?"

" **A man with a lightsabre and a desire to win**." The answer is growled out, his black clothes bathed in red from his right hand. He looks… he looks like a man ready to wage a war. A man ready to burn the world down, just to see what colour the smoke is.

"Kylo. Ren. I need no fleet. I need no Order. I need no Snoke. They are useful tools, nothing more. I have my rage and my passion, my will and my training. I have my _anger_." And my fear. There, behind the eyes. The posturing isn't just to convince others, after all; Kylo Ren needs to convince himself first and foremost. "I could still defeat you, even without the Force. I could still **control** you, if I wanted to."

Poe's heart is thundering in his chest, so loud that – once again – he wonders if the other man can hear it. He thinks it's fear. Apprehension. And, it's true, some of it is.

_Some_.

He should stop. He knows he should stop. He is injured, he is trapped on this planet, he is on some level still a prisoner, and he is verbally poking a man who kills as easily as breathing.

And yet… he won't stop. Pride makes him keep going, where any sane person would apologise, back off, placate. Where any sane person would use a little common sense.

But Poe Dameron is not that person. Poe Dameron is the man who waits until the very last second to pull up.

"Words, again," he says. "Words and empty posturing." His eyes darken. He is not just skimming the surface of a star. He is accelerating towards a flare. And suddenly, desperately, dangerously, he feels so damnably alive. " _Why don't you prove it?_ "

Adrenaline kicks in so fast, makes even a normal person strong: fight, flight, freeze or fornicate. For Kylo, there has only ever been one answer. The pain in his ankle is ignored and he plants that foot firmly, bringing the other up in a swift kick, aimed at Poe's solar plexus, angled to wind him, but cause no lasting damage.

He isn't entirely posturing: 'Jedi' are trained in physical combat rigorously. Most of the time, the Force is there to augment it, but muscle-memory and brute instinct are also loud. Dameron pulls a blaster out of nowhere and brings it up (slower than he did back on Jakku, injured, or reluctant?), but Ren whirls like a dervish, the hilt of his sabre smashing down onto the joint at the base of Dameron's thumb, making him drop the weapon. Next, Kylo bends the short distance to catch the pilot by the throat. He's strong, for someone as wiry as he is, and he lifts Poe a foot off the ground, so they're almost eye-level.

"Tell me, _pilot_ , is it dreams of dying in a blaze of glory that you live for, under your patina of The Right Thing? Is it that? Or do you seek to subsume yourself in something larger than yourself?" He crushes over his windpipe, making it harder for him to answer, but not impossible.

Oh, but this was a bad move. Such a very bad move, and Poe knows it. He does his best to respond, but he's not at the controls of an X-Wing now and, grounded, he is just this. Just a decent soldier with an injured arm, a nearly-Sith for a travelling companion, and, apparently, some sort of deathwish.

But… no. No. He doesn't want to die. He never dies in his dreams: he'd be willing to, yes, for the cause, but there is a difference between being willing to do something, and actively wanting it.

And then he's a foot off the ground (why are all Darksiders so damn tall?) and struggling for breath, instinctively grasping at the arm holding him up even though he has no purchase to pull himself free, and what's worse he has to use his left hand because his right arm is already so badly hurt. Panic kicks in first – because he really _doesn't_ want to die – followed by a burst of anger (at himself, for being so foolhardy, and at Ren, for being so cold).

"I am _part_ of something larger than myself," he chokes out, every word a struggle. (And a victory. Remember that.) "And I would die for it, for the Resistance, if I had to."

A flash in his eyes, despite it all. Still accelerating. "And… and sheer brute force proves nothing. It is only coercion. Not control…"

Brace for impact.

"And if I kill you now? If I press hard enough, and cause the vessels in your brain to burst? Rupture the airpipe, let you suffocate to death?" Ren brings Poe in closer, brings him face-to-face, the other almost trailing over his front.

"Will that be for the Resistance? What good do you do, plant fodder, on this hell-hole? No. It's because you cannot bear the thought that I might be _right_ , that I saw deep into those dark parts of you that you pretend don't even exist. You hate the fact that you **enjoyed** the excuse to obey me, that you--"

No Force-tingle, but something about the air and a scent and a sound has Kylo dropping Poe and whirling back around with his sabre. He slices at the beast that lunges for him, catching it on the shoulder and filling the air with the scent of burned meat.

"Get your weapon," he barks, circling between them, giving Poe cover to retrieve the blaster and whirling his blade in large figure-eights, then jabbing forwards to dissuade it from charging. "Make sure we're not jumped from behind…" And then he's moving in an even faster blur of red and black and death that is _not_ going to let this scaly, slimy monster with the giant yellow teeth **anywhere** near either of them.

The universe apparently does not want them to have this conversation. This conversation? Which conversation?

This is not the conversation you're looking for.

Poe hits the ground roughly, momentarily winded and still trying to get air back in his lungs. He moves as soon as he can, though, rolling to the side – leading with his left arm, mercifully – and managing to get hold of the fallen blaster. His right arm aches, and doubly-so from having just been dropped, but he still uses it to shoot with. In a situation requiring more precision, it might affect his aim, but here?

It isn't exactly easy to miss the thing that's jumped them, given the size of it, and Poe gets a couple of shots in before he has to move, dodging and then flat-out running as the beast realises he's a threat too, and goes for him.

"You like murdering things, so hurry up and murder this!" he shouts in Ren's direction, the chaos apparently not having dimmed his inclination to snark.

Whatever it is, it's fast: Ren has to give it that. All six legs propel it out of the reach of his sabre, and it makes a headline for what it must see as the weaker target. (Or so he likes to think.) Poe can, at least, run right now, which Kylo struggles to do. Still he tries, grunting in pain as he jolts his bad ankle too much, then using the good foot to spring straight up.

Up, up, and he lands astride the creature, jabbing his energy weapon deep into what looks like its spinal cord. The beast howls and hot, pink blood explodes from its mouth, the wound in its back cauterising when the lightsabre is pulled clean. Kylo stays on it like a rider in the saddle, right up until it crashes onto its forelimbs and he slides (almost) elegantly off over the head.

When Ren lands on top of the creature, Poe stops shooting at it, not wanting to risk hitting the other man if the beast bucks unexpectedly. He uses the first few seconds to move to a better position, instinctively trying to find cover he can shoot from, and…

…and then Ren goes and does _that_.

Poe's eyes go a little wide, because _damn_ , that is impressive. Not that he's going to say as much out loud, of course.

He rises to his feet, blaster still up and trained on the fallen creature, ready to shoot if the thing so much as twitches.

"That was bracing," he remarks, as casually as he can.

_I think I need more pain meds_ , Ren thinks to himself, and dusts himself down. The lightsabre stays activated as he scans the horizon for others. Perhaps he's a little preening in his stance, a little pleased with himself.

"I don't recognise the creature," he says, when he's convinced there's none about to jump out at them again just yet. "It was never in any of my readings. It may be a reasonable source of protein, if we run short of supplies we can trust."

An electronic whine as he deactivates his weapon, then slings it back onto his belt. "Did you injure yourself further?"

Poe still hasn't lowered the blaster. He can't quite. It was fine when he had it hidden away, but now that events have forced him to reveal it… he feels more powerful again. Less trapped. Less caught.

"Not _after_ you dropped me," he replies, tone mostly level. Mostly.

"You appear to enjoy being dropped." Ren's tone is very level, now, his eyes… scrutinising. "It is likely the pilot death-wish in you."

It's the only thing he knows to say, really. After all, normally people around him learn to keep their mouth shut or have it permanently shut. It's rare anyone other than Hux pushes at his boundaries for long. Hux has also learned when is 'enough', though that was a difficult training process for him.

"Do they recruit masochists with martyr complexes on purpose, or is it simply that you gravitate towards the life?"

There are various ways Poe can respond to this. Some aggressive, some defensive. Some more convincing than others… no, no, no, stop it. But he has a weapon in his hand, and the lingering fire of battle in his heart, and they both play their part in his decision.

He shrugs. "I gravitate towards it," he says, in what is supposed to be an offhand, unaffected tone. Supposed to be.

"I see. A mutually beneficial arrangement, then. Did you enjoy it when my stormtroopers worked on you, or do you prefer a more… intimate approach?" Ren's asking for scientific reasons, of course. So he knows for future reference.

He stays at a distance, for the time being, his posture as neutral as he can make it.

Poe's mind stops dead, staring at the other man, blaster levelled more clearly in Ren's direction. "Don't," he says, quietly. You could mistake his tone for caution, maybe even for threat, if you didn't know him.

But if you do – or if you know how to look – the sudden burst of fear is palpable.

"You know full well I have no ability to tread inside your mind, other than those anyone would have, right now," Ren points out. He doesn't even blink at the blaster, though it is considerably more deadly now than it would be normally.

"And all I know is what I saw the last time I was in there. It was really quite intriguing. Do you indulge in other risky behaviours, other than your piloting and putting yourself into situations where you might be captured and interrogated?" He still isn't moving. "Seeking pleasure is no sin, Dameron. Pleasure is what drives us all. **Passion**. Without it, we are as vital as the statues we saw before."

"I do what I do for the Resistance," Poe insists. "For allies I trust. For leaders I respect." No name-dropping this time. He's being careful. "I am not _seeking pleasure_."

Of course, even on the surface, this is a lie. He does seek pleasure in life. In the thrill of flight. The joy of victory. In seeing so much of the galaxy, fighting for what he believes in. But… he does take risks. He knows it. And the truth of the matter is, if he hadn't been sent on the mission to Jakku, he would probably have volunteered for it.

But not for this. Not because he wanted…

His aim with the blaster is wavering, emotion getting the better of him. "And as for you… whatever you're trying to do, here… stop."

The last word is little more than a whisper; desperate, almost.

"The truth shall set you free." Simple words, but true. Ren starts to walk towards Poe, now. The movement a little less easy and graceful (pain kicking in, shooting up to his knee, making his whole leg burn), but still measured.

"Why does a man do anything, but that he wants to? Some get their pleasure from stimulants, some from credits, some from sexual oblivion. You may even enjoy _helping_ others, but why? Because you value the feeling you get, you **revel** in the so-called diminuation of your own needs, subsumed for the greater good. But it is still…" and his voice, now, is low. Not because of a mask, but because of his own emotion. It's a throaty, hungry purr.

Two fingers lift, and touch the edge of the blaster, guiding the barrel downwards. "… **need**. The Sith were honest about it. The Jedi either sought to eliminate the sense of self – to murder the heart – or mutated their need, deflected it into the few areas they deemed… _suitable_." His hand slides up over the gun, just the fingertips touching Poe's skin. "Perhaps it would suit you. Perhaps you could be made to slave your will to someone else's. Perhaps you should be the Jedi, and I the pilot free to roam the skies…"

There's a moment, just one moment, when Poe knows he could fire that blaster. He could. He could do it. He could end all of this, push it back, hurt the man who has hurt _him_ so much. The confliction is writ large in his expression, in the way his breath catches when Ren first makes contact with the weapon.

One moment. One shot, and it all goes away. He wins. He's a hero. He's done the right thing.

But he doesn't fire. He can't fire. As the barrel is nudged down, the pain of that realisation is there in his expression too. It's defeat, of a kind, but a defeat born of something inside, not of some arbitrary external factor.

This is insane. This is completely insane. Every fibre of his being is screaming out, telling him to stop, telling him to fight back, telling him to inform the other man precisely what he can do with his twisted little words, his dark little ideas. Only, the more everything screams, the more he can hear nothing but the quiet voice underneath it all. The voice that's been making him pursue this – and he has been pursuing it – since the incident on the shuttlecraft. The voice that makes him keep baiting the other man until he snaps, and then revels in the consequences.

Wait, revels? No. No, no, no…

…and then their hands meet against the grip of the weapon, and a wave of some strange heat rushes through Poe Dameron's whole body, flaring out from the point of contact.

" _Stop_ ," he says, once more, openly pleading now.

"Is that what you truly want?" All that's touching is two bared fingertips to the sliver of skin between palm and thumb. Nothing else. It's more than enough for a man who barely ever touches _anyone_ , though. It arcs like electricity, like a circuit completed, like… like the **Force**. "You wish me to stop?"

Because he could. He could let go, and turn, and leave the man distraught and laid open and bare. Part of him is tempted to do just that, to see what would happen. Without his extra senses to help him, he's flying half-blind. It's… it's…

… _intoxicating_. Power, without needing to use the Force, this time. He's got the other man caught like a womprat in the speederlights, and right now he could probably… "Kneel for me, Dameron." Ren slides his hand that little bit higher, glancing over the pulsepoint hammering in Poe's wrist. "Put your blaster away, and kneel."

Will he do it? Won't he? The moment could go either way, and Kylo finds the possibilities utterly, terrifyingly wonderful. If he does, it will be on his own merit. It will prove he's right. Prove… something, anyway. His eyes never move, and the other hand lifts and two fingers touch Poe's temple, stroke just slightly at his hairline. " _Kneel_." Soft, but sure.

Yes. Poe wants the other man to stop. Of course he does. He wants this whole insane situation to stop. He wants to be away from here, away from all this, his mission accomplished, life back on track. He wants to be the man he is so sure he is supposed to be, the man his parents wanted him to be. The man his allies, his friends, need him to be. The man General Organa asked him to be.

But… it isn't that simple. If it was that simple, things would never have gotten to this point. He'd have killed Kylo Ren after the escape pod crashed or – more likely – they'd still be exploring together, but at a distance. Talking of nothing but technicality and requirement and survival. Not this. Not pushing and pushing for…

For what? Poe doesn't know. And he does know. He wants, and he doesn't want. It is possible for two conflicting things to be in effect at the same time. Jedi and Sith. Rebellion and Empire. Resistance and First Order. Conflicting. Contradictory. Each opposing the other, and each, in some strange way, defined by it at the same time.

And then… those words. Those words that make Poe feel as though he's been hit in the chest by some unstoppable object. Those words that make him want to recoil, run, retreat. Deny that any of this ever happened.

Those words that run through his blood like poison. Like a drug. Like fire blazing through ice, changing it forever.

For a long moment, he doesn't move. He doesn't even breathe. Terror chases through him, a terror he's never felt before, and does not know what to do with.

And still… the _wanting_. That voice at the back of his head. Pushing Kylo Ren, pushing _him_ , to precisely this moment.

Poe Dameron does not look away. Maybe it's some lingering defiance. Maybe… it's something else. An open door. He hesitates for one last second, and then, very slowly, he lowers the blaster right down, tossing it onto the ground a little distance away.

And then? He drops slowly to his knees.

Oh. **Oh**. That is something. The great pilot Poe Dameron, kneeling before him. No Force, just his voice and his fingertips. And it sends a jolt of pure pleasure through Kylo, fiercer than any Force-lightning. He pushes the fingers at Poe's temple into his hair, stroking against his scalp, moving to tangle in the slightly-messy locks.

Power. Control. It's what Ren craves, what he needs. He could never be the Jedi his family wanted, he's… he's just too broken. Too torn in different directions. No Jedi would _ever_ condone the sensations he's chasing right now, the look they share, the exchange of power so freely offered.

"Good." One word. Just one. His hand moves around, coils in the hair at the nape of Poe's neck, keeps his head craned up to look at him. "I control you. And you want it. And **I** want it. And that… is not wrong."

How could it be? How could this be wrong? The air crackles, hot and heavy and full of meaning. He tugs softly with his hand, requesting Poe stand back up again. This place is not safe, and if they're to survive, he needs Poe to be at least mobile, if not… in charge of himself.

He holds the man still, then closes his own eyes (briefly) and bends down just enough to press his forehead to the other's. "Need should never be denied. Delayed, but not denied. This is not over."

This… is the strangest feeling Poe Dameron has ever known. It doesn't feel right, per se, but it certainly doesn't feel wrong, either, even though on some level he knows it should. Knows he should never have acquiesced. Knows he should never have _surrendered_.

But this is different from what's gone before. It's different from Jakku – the _first_ time he was on his knees in front of Kylo Ren – and it's different from everything that has transpired since. This… is not forced. Not coerced. Not an act of desperation or survival.

This… is a choice. A free choice. And once it's made, the whole world seems to go still, save for the thunder of his heartbeat, and for the wave of something else that passes through him.

Need. It is need. And it's been there, unacknowledged, for longer than Poe first realised.

So he's taken somewhat by surprise when the other man urges him back to his feet. He sways a little, still dizzy with what he's just done, with the weight of it, gasping softly as Ren presses their foreheads together. It's so… intimate. More intimate than surrender.

"All right," he whispers. Accepting. Clearly still needing, but accepting. "All right."

"Can you walk, or do you need a moment?" Kylo asks, suddenly solicitous. He breaks away from his forehead, and gently lets go of his head to examine his arm. "We should not linger where more of those things could attack us."

Maybe it's that blasted Light-pull again, but… no. The Light would never ask a man to kneel just for the thrill of it. But would the Dark pull him carefully back to his feet?

There's… room. For others. Sometimes. Isn't there? Darth Vader himself…

Kylo pushes that slightly to one side for the moment. "We should continue. We can do a little longer before we should consider turning back."

The gentle touch surprises Poe almost as much as the order to drop to his knees had, and it's a few seconds before his mind can process some kind of reply. "I'm OK," he manages. "That thing didn't hurt me."

He doesn't quite know how to go from… from whatever just happened to something more closely resembling normality, as much as any of this situation classes as 'normal'.

"And you're right," he agrees. "And, if nothing else, we need to know if more of those things are going to come after us…"

Common sense. Yes. Tactical thought. Gotcha. And not suddenly wondering what might have happened, were they somewhere safer. Somewhere safer with all the time in the galaxy…

Suddenly unwilling to let the other man look him in the eyes – lest he see the truth writ plainly in them – Poe moves to pick up his blaster, slipping it into his belt, and then retrieves the little bag of supplies from where it slid into the undergrowth during the fight with whatever the now-dead beast is.

Kylo has the decency not to kick a man when he's down. He's never… well. He's never done this before. He's forced his way into a lot of minds, controlled them utterly – to the point of self-harm, even – but never… never just with his intent, his words, his will. It's something he's not used to, and he wonders how you control it?

Poe still looks a little spaced out, and Ren decides he's going to do his utmost to get him back to the pod safe and sound. Not an Apprentice, but still… useful. Yes. Useful.

What use he's going to put him to, he's not entirely sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: So, TheJuggernaut drew us fanart for this chapter. Actual fanart! Take a look-see: (UPDATE: Now with even more panels!)
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> Credit and larger versions: [@itspronounceddee-ann-uh](http://itspronounceddee-ann-uh.tumblr.com/post/138381669768/behold-everything-i-have-been-doing-instead-of)
> 
> Squeaking noises intensify!


	5. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 600 hits in 24 hours. You people are the best! <3
> 
> This chapter is a big one, literally and metaphorically. Enjoy!

The silence is half companionable, half awkward, as they walk through the rest of the brightly-coloured forest. Then there's the sound of running water ahead, and Kylo lifts his hand in the universal signal for: wait. He stalks closer – knowing this is likely where any other beastie would be hiding – and when it seems clear, he signals Poe to follow.

There's a small brook chattering past, with several large, worn stones in path to the other bank. It seems as if the forest grows impassable, there, or perhaps the undergrowth is concealing something?

Out comes the lightsabre.

For the most part, Poe just follows. He is alert and aware, staying on the lookout for anything else that might attack them, and he trusts himself to react accordingly, should that happen.

But, on a deeper level, his mind is racing so fast you'd need an A-Wing to keep up with it. He's trying to make sense of what transpired back in that clearing. What he did. What Ren did. What all of this could possibly mean. He still has no idea if he's done the right thing… but what he does know is that he needs more of an opportunity to find out.

When Ren gestures for him to stop, he stops. That is good soldiering, nothing more. As is moving in closer at the second gesture. And then the lightsabre. Instantly assuming that the other man has spotted some sign of danger, Poe draws his blaster again – carefully, subtly – keeping it low for the moment.

"Cover me," Kylo orders, though not unkindly. He's not one for letting another take the dangerous path, even if he should be. He takes the stepping stones carefully, favouring his game ankle. When he reaches the other bank, he turns and gestures Poe to follow. His eyes scan both banks of the waterfront until he's convinced Poe is safely on dry land, then he goes to the wall of foliage.

It's dense, and when he lifts his blade, he sees no gaps in between. A few careful swooshes and branches fall, revealing more of that dusty, yellow stone. He makes light work of it, then: clearing swathes of it from the rock-face, careful not to damage the masonry.

By the time he's finished, it's clear the wall stretches on into at least the edge of accessible space, blocking any further progression. There's grooves and lines, and then… ah. Writing. It's in an old tongue, but one Kylo knows well.

"Jedi," he declares, putting the sabre away again. His fingers scrub the aftermath off the inscription, clearing it to be read. "Or their tongue. It is… it is part of their credo."

"Do you know what it says?" Poe asks, eyes flicking between scanning over the uncovered writing, and watching the other man. The way he acts. The way he moves. They way he _is_ , when he's just this. Just him.

Poe, certainly, can't decipher the script. The style of the lettering is a little familiar – something he's seen before – but not something he understands. The air of mystery about it is enticing, though.

"It says: ' _There is no emotion, there is peace_ '." There's derision in Ren's tone, though, and he steps away from the wall. His hand falls to his side, as he wanders up and down, looking for more.

"You think this is a dead end? Or… are the ancient Jedi trying to tell us something?"

Poe keeps his voice level as he speaks, not wanting – for once – to sound like he's trying to stir up trouble. This time, it is just curiosity, coupled with a feeling of being rather out of his depth.

"I think the ancient Jedi wanted to trap Sith," Kylo growls, annoyed with them all over again. "Or to punish them for daring to want to feel things."

The sky – is it starting to get darker? He glances up and his lip curls back in open irritation. "Night is falling. Rapidly, it seems. We likely do not have time to go back to the pod before it falls fully, and in the night we will be more vulnerable…"

Of course he had to get marooned on the planet of the Bearded Assholes. As if it wasn't enough to be drilled the mantras by rote, day after day, now he likely has to die looking at it in a dead tongue. Even almost extinct, the Jedi find a way to mock him.

_Daring to want to feel things._

Poe takes a deep breath, concentrating on the here and now. Not on before. Certainly not on later.

"Maybe it's a test," he muses. "A door. Maybe… it needs someone with Jedi serenity to pass through."

"Then you can be my guest," Ren snarks, waving and bowing obsequiously in the process. "Master Luke found rather early on that peace was not my strong point. If we're to pass a test, we may well want to think about taming the six-legged hellbeasts, as we've got more chance of breeding space dragons than me finding inner serenity."

"I'm no Force-user," Poe reminds him, unnecessarily. "I doubt it would matter even if I _did_ find inner serenity."

Plus, he's not really the sort, either. He's naturally all emotion, fire and energy and enthusiasm. Passion.

Ren glares at him. Really glares at him. He's got the right frame to do it, too: all imperious height and sniper-rifle nose. His hands don't go to his hips, but they might as well do. "I am no Jedi. I am the **opposite** of a Jedi. Which is why this is a trap."

He explains slowly, as you would to a small child.

"I do not believe in serenity. I believe that serenity is death. Invention, creation, art and love all come from _needing_ and _wanting_ and **doing**."

"I know what you believe," Poe replies, with the barest touch of annoyance creeping back into his voice. Just a little. Mostly in response to being talked at like that. "But either we get through this door, or we don't. We _give up_ , and risk the walk back to the pod, having _given up_. Or… you _try_. I promise not to tell anyone."

This is another time when gloves would be ideal. Kylo loves the feel of them: the way they enclose his fingers, the sound they make as you crunch the leather. Another boundary between him and the world, another… mask. Instead, bare fingers clutch at the air as he swallows down what looks like a very angry response.

Do… or possibly die. The Jedi were very much clear on that front: you complied, you were neutered, or you were exterminated. As he's already had his wings clipped, he's sure the next step would be to kill him (and possibly Poe) once and for all.

He's a little too snitty to agree aloud; instead… he tries to forget the other is there. Turns away, and faces the wall. Awkwardly he sinks to one knee, bowing his head. His hands lie by his sides, palms facing forwards to the wall.

This… is not easy. Even less so with someone watching. But he wants to survive, he does. He wants to survive, and if it means proving that he's strong enough to occasionally choke down his own feelings…

Kylo tries to recall the old mantras, and they come flooding back in a cacophonous hurry. It's probably counter-productive to recall in so many swirling details, but he can't help it: the first time when he was young and full of hope and he bounced up and down until a hand on his shoulder bade him still (and the bouncing continued internally, wondering when he would get to do the _cool_ stuff). The slight tinge of exasperation, later, when he should know better and still doesn't seem to know how to turn off all the stimulus. The time when all he could think about was how hungry he was and how he missed Chewbacca's cooking. The time he got so angry he hurled--

No. **No**. He attempts to force those memories out, and his body shakes in protest. Calm. He imagines a single, flat stone floating above his head. Imagines it perfectly smooth and round, the surface mirroring details of the world in miniature. Imagines -- _worlds on fire burning fast and bright at once under the light of a star turned cruel and_ \-- NO.

His breathing goes ragged as he tries again. He tries to think of a goal, instead: do this, and… and… and…? What? Okay. No. Do this and you live. Do this and you can continue. Do this and -- _the look in Poe's eyes when he dropped, when he knew he was under control and it was a choice, a gift; the way heat crept into his cheeks and made his lips plump, the sound of his breath and the feel of his hair and the soft touch of their heads together and how he'd wanted to do more, so much more, but --_

Kylo leaps to his feet with a roar of anguish and disappointment, his blade out and ready to face whatever death will come for him. He can't. He just _can't_ deny that side of him. He wants things too much. He feels things too much. He howls at the top of his lungs as he charges at the wall, bringing a swing from up on high to vent his frustrations.

" **PEACE IS A LIE** ," he insists, cleaving at the rock. " **THERE IS ONLY. PASSION.** "

Oh dear. That… is not helping. Poe backs off a good few steps before he risks speaking.

"Ren?" No answer. "Ren!" Sharper, more insistent. And apparently still not enough. Which is when, slightly riled and more than a little concerned, Poe makes the unfortunate decision to try Sunday-naming the other man.

" _ **Ben Organa-Solo, you are better than this!**_ "

The tall man turns in a whir that comes naturally to his… somewhat dramatic personality. He reaches out with his off-hand, and a flare of Force-power sends Poe flying backwards.

" **THAT. IS NOT. MY NAME.** "

Poe hits the ground a good distance away, smacking into the rugged surface in a rough tangle, which sets his injured arm off. He lies where he's fallen, trying to catch his breath from the shock and pain, and wondering if that was an unconscious attempt to provoke the other man, or something else entirely.

It's then that he processes the other thing. The part where Ren just knocked him over _with the Force_.

Is it working? Is this what they're supposed to do?

He scrambles to his feet, with far more energy than he deserves to have left. Even if most of it is just adrenaline by this point.

"I think it might be working," he calls out, moving closer once more, acting all on instinct. All on that aforementioned adrenaline. And not, remotely, on anything resembling common sense. "Don't let it go, now. _Hit me again!_ "

Kylo hasn't even processed that he'd used the Force. It is – of course – second nature to him, but now he knows it's back… he calls out in fractured glee. Everything is _alive_. He can see the winding water working up through tree-trunks, can see the life teaming in the soil and in the brook. He can feel the thud-thud, thud-thud of Poe's heart.

Really feel it. Feel his own heart skittering to keep time. His eyes blaze with something inherently **happy** , a joy and a freedom and a knowledge and a longing. He can feel him. He can… _feel_ the excitement in him, and he hoists the other man up from the ground, levitating him a foot clear of the earth. It is easy to lift a man, and he feels the sudden skip to Poe's stomach. But instead of hitting him, instinct makes him toss him up – hard – and then let go when he's almost hitting the canopy above. He lets him fall – knowing the sensation will be as close to _true_ flight that any Human can really get – and catches him so close to the ground his boots scrape at the soil.

"This is what the Force should be," Kylo insists, and drags Poe closer. He keeps his feet from taking his weight, hovers the pilot just in front of him. It takes a lot of focus, but it's focus Kylo is happy to put into it, now. "Not cold, clinical, empty…"

But the man likes pain, too, doesn't he? And that's fine. Kylo is more than happy to oblige. From nowhere, invisible tendrils swirl up from the ground to coil around ankles and wind their way up Poe's legs, wrapping them up tight. The whirling sensation loops around his waist, around his arms, pulling him spread wide and constricting little by little. Kylo's pale cheeks are pink with the glee of it all, and he watches with hunger the way the other man reacts. "But if you want pain…"

This is way more than Poe expected when he spoke. When he urged Ren on. His words were only meant to provoke what was needed to do whatever this is, to help the man re-connect with the Force. To, perhaps, open the door ahead.

That was all he wanted when he spoke. Right? It was, wasn't it? Practicality? A means to an end? Taking one for the team..?

And then he's flung up and dropped, like it's nothing. Like it's all so easy. He manages not to scream in shock, though it's mostly because he doesn't have enough air in his lungs to give voice to it all. Not until everything goes still, and he's hanging there, in the grip of the other man's unseen power, staring into those dark, pleasure-shot eyes.

It's terrifying. But it's the kind of terror that makes him feel alive, rather than the kind that makes him want to run. The kind of terror that snakes through his blood, an awareness of everything, of his body, of the other man, of _possibility_.

Which is when the pain hits. It, too, comes out of nowhere, quick and insidious, coiling round him, holding him, _controlling him_ , and it's a good thing he's in no fit state for anything resembling sensible thought right now, because it means he can't overthink his response.

He doesn't need to think about it. The words slip out, too honest and too open, unbidden and unstoppable.

"Yes. _Yes_. _**Please**_."

Kylo actually smiles, though it's still shy, as if his face has forgotten how to do it. It's more that as a Jedi, he was trying so hard to be serious, and as the Master of the Ren… well. His own masochism and desire to hide put his head behind a mask. He lifts his lightsabre, brings it close to Poe's cheek. The blade crackles hot and he draws a faint halo around his face, never close enough to singe.

"Passion is not a thing to hide from," Kylo insists, and the mental bonds cinch tighter, curl up to caress his throat. They don't press so hard he can't breathe, but they make sure Poe is aware of every molecule of air he gasps inside. "Passion is what drives societies on. It is what makes us good at what we do. It is what fuels life." He sounds surer, now. He sounds like he's voicing something he truly believes.

The Force-fingers brush across Poe's clothes, and Kylo doesn't look down, but he can _tell_ that blood is flowing… south of the border. He lets the sliding, invisible touches rub between Poe's parted legs, lets his other-sense feel rough textile and radiated heat. "It's what… continues the species." Although admittedly this… this wouldn't. But Kylo knows that sexual attraction isn't just about reproduction, never has been.

His blade whispers out, and he clips the hilt to his belt. He pushes fingers into the pilot's hair again, and this time he knots his grip **hard**. He pulls Poe's head back, and ghosts his breath over his lips. "Do you want this?" he asks, needing to be sure. Needing… to know.

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps, in answer, in acquiescence, in need. He does want this. He should _not_ want this… but he does. He does, and denying it would be completely impossible now. And, more than that, he doesn't _want_ to deny it.

His whole body shakes – with need, with pain, with barely-repressed tension – as the other man's Force-tendrils move over his body, trailing agony and ecstasy in their wake. It's shocking how quickly the sensations can become pleasurable, without ever ceasing to be the other thing.

Shocking how quickly he can feel himself craving more. How quickly he can see himself offering the other man anything, if only to make sure he doesn't stop this time.

Is he broken? Or… has he just found what was missing? What he's needed for so long and never understood?

"Please," he whispers. Mind starting to sink. "I want this." A beat. The scary words, now. The words that prove this is more than just physical sensation, biological imperative. " _I want you_."

Kylo Ren has never kissed anyone. Jedi don't, and then… then he was too busy with other things. (Plus, no one he ever met… was worthy of his attention.) Still, he knows the theory behind it, and there's no nerves holding him back. Poe literally can't run, and he's said he **wants** this, so…

He holds the other's head still, head tilted and mouth smashing into his with more force than grace. His mouth is closed at first, and he isn't really sure what he's doing other than that Poe is moving, too, and then things part open and there's the tantalising offer of tongue. He slips his own past the other's lips, fucking into the dark, welcoming depths as he tugs harder with his powers. He stretches the man wide open, giving him absolutely no quarter to move anything but his head, and then his own hand presses heel-first into Poe's flat, exposed stomach.

Were Kylo thinking, he'd be panicking right now. Panicking about the fact he's making out with the enemy on a planet of weird-Jedi-Sith-traps where six-legged monsters attack and droids aren't allowed to participate (probably for the best). But he's dragging his palm down, slipping to curl fingers around the bulge in the front of the other man's pants, tongue still spearing in and--

No.

 **NO**. There does not get to be a big, angry, growling noise. Not when he's busy with his pilot. Kylo breaks from the kiss and snaps his head around and--

_Where in the fuck did that thing come from?_

The Force-net vanishes at once, and Kylo's moving from forceful lover to vengeful warrior with a snarl and a _tschisss_ that belies his long training in more ways than one. "You do **not** interrupt passion," he snarls, and the minute he's sure Poe's got his blaster in his hand he's performing rather an impressive aerial leap onto what… is that… a proto-Rancor?

Poe drops to the ground with a thud, not keeping his footing but somehow managing to stand again almost at once. He scrambles for his blaster, trying to kick his mind into action, dragging himself out of the mental fog that does not want to fade.

The sense-memory of it all is so intense, it's only the life-or-death situation that keeps him active. Otherwise… otherwise he'd be lost in the memories, in the lingering ache that runs through his body (but an ache like the joy of _release_ , rather than recalled pain). And the memories themselves… oh, they're new and incredible and terrifying and wonderful.

Kylo Ren kissed him. And Poe Dameron kissed him back. And, damn it, right now he should be free to dwell on what that means. Or, indeed, to do it some more. (A lot more. A _lot_ more. He's already lost, and he knows it.)

But, no. Apparently the universe – which still hates him, it seems – thinks now is a fair and appropriate time to throw some kind of Rancor at them.

Great. Just _great_. Poe moves back, knowing he needs to stay well clear of the thing, and its vicious claws. Its spear-like teeth.

Its monumentally poor sense of timing.

He opens fire. One of the (many) good things about making out with a man right before battle is that it _really_ makes you want to live. And _win_. And _fast_.

The Rancor-like thing is big, so Kylo is confident Poe won't accidentally shoot him. Definitely won't, if he can deflect or halt any bolts that come too close, but he only pays attention to the other in so much as he's keeping peripheral attention on him to anticipate any danger headed his way.

It is very, very important that none does. He's just had his first kiss, one so laden with heat that his whole _body_ sings with it, and he's not about to risk losing something so electrifying before it even starts.

Poe is going to survive. No matter what the cost. It isn't even a conscious decision, Kylo just… knows it. Something's flipped in his head, and his priorities have shifted, as surely as they did the day he left his old name and life behind.

But this Rancor-thing is trying to put a dampener on his potential love life, and Kylo is not going to let it. He slices over its spine as he whirls up and over, grabbing debris from the wall and hurling it at the beast's face. It roars in annoyance, turning to charge at him and he goads it on gleefully. His sabre-blade weaves through the air, hypnotising it into running full-pelt… only for Kylo to perform a back-flip and cut under its jaw in the process.

Rancor-thing doesn't like having its jaw split in half, and it howls in protest. It turns from Kylo, attention spinning towards Poe.

No. NO. Kylo plants both feet and throws a Force-net around it, groaning in pain and exertion as he struggles to hold it back. Unlike a blaster bolt, it's alive and furious and controlling it is taking everything the Ren Lord has. His heels drag as the Rancor pulls forwards, just a little, and he screams: "SHOOT IT. SHOOT IT NOW." If he lets go, the thing will rush Poe headlong, and Kylo's suddenly terrified he might not manage this. "FOR THE LOVE OF THE FORCE, KILL IT."

Poe does not need telling twice. He does not, in fact, need telling once. His hesitation is not born of fear or shock: it is born of timing.

Well. Timing, a tendency to play things close to the hilt, and a slight need to impress, given how impress _ive_ it is to watch Ren fighting the thing. Poe waits until precisely the right moment and then opens fire again. And again. A decent blaster can hold up under a lot of pressure, and right now this one is getting put to the test.

Red bolts lance through the air (First Order issue, still unfamiliar, aggressive) and strike home, catching the creature in the head, the chest, the hip, over and over until the thing finally stumbles, staggering forwards and collapsing to the ground with one final, pained roar.

Even when it's down, Poe keeps his blaster trained on the creature. He doesn't trust it not to have some last trick up its scaly sleeve. Nor does he trust that the universe is done with him for the moment.

Kylo is panting by the time it's done, physical control (and some mental) all but wiping him out. He throws the blade off from his hip, staggering up and scoring the creature open all along the torso. His nose is bleeding from the exertions, and by the time he comes to the head, he's had enough. He jabs it in through the eye, then the side of the neck, then into what is likely its brain, and… okay, maybe he's going a little too far, but this thing really annoyed him.

He won't look at Poe.

The other man just… watches. A little alarmed by the violent outburst. A lot less alarmed than he should be. And still very, very turned on. More so now, actually, given that they just _killed some kind of Rancor_ between the pair of them.

This is still insane. Kylo Ren is a Sith Lord in all but name. The right-hand of the galaxy's latest oppressor. An unashamed killer. Everything he stands for, Poe stands against. So why, why, why by the _Force_ does Poe still want the man to do wicked, wicked things to him? Because he does. Oh, he does. And the longer the thoughts are in his head, the longer he has the chance to muse on them, the worse they get.

Worse? _Better_.

Poe decides to take the initiative. He sticks the blaster back in his belt, stalks up to the other man, puts a hand on Ren's arm to half-turn him (enough to seem dynamic, not enough to seem pushy) and kisses him. _Hard_.

Kylo is somewhat in shock, and the waves of rage crash over him. He lets the other creep up on him, not registering him as a threat anymore. He half wonders if Poe will come to his senses, now, if maybe there was something making him--

Oh. He moves when he's urged (he can acquiesce that much), and pauses when the other kisses him again. He flicks the switch on his weapon, dropping the hilt to the ground, and grabs Poe's face in both hands. He kisses back like it's the only thing worth doing, a kiss of relief and terror and hope all in one. He can't feel the Force any more, and the horror of it makes him reckless, makes him slam Poe into the wall just feet away from the giant, still-warm corpse.

He keeps on kissing him, there, but he presses him into the wall, leaning in to rub against his torso, growling into Poe's mouth. He grabs for his hands, shoving them above the other man's head, and pins them down with one of his own. He's going to do this. He's going to do this, and if anything **else** tries to interrupt, he'll rip its throat out with his fucking **_teeth_**. His free hand starts to pull at clothing, baring Poe's chest and then down to his belt and then he's fumbling with the buckle, trying to get it loose.

Yes. _Yes_. That's more like it. Not that Poe didn't enjoy the whole Force-thing before – because he did, _oh_ he did – but there's something easier about this. About doing it the old-fashioned way.

(He guesses that maybe the other man's connection to the Force has been blocked again, and that would worry him, if he allowed himself time to think about. But he doesn't. He is _busy_.)

And this feels so good, Poe can hardly believe it. He likes dynamism when it comes to lovemaking. When it comes to _fucking_. He likes energy and enthusiasm and he very much likes to let the other man (always men, in his case) take the lead. But he has never done anything quite like this: never been pinned to a wall by someone with such raw power, such determination. Such _insistence_.

It's so unbelievably hot, he feels like the thought alone could rip him in two.

" _Yes_ ," he urges, lost in it now. No more thought of morality or sides or the state of the galaxy. Just this. Them. _Him_. "Yes, come on, do it. _Fuck me like you mean it_."

The belt is nearly ripped open, then, and Kylo shoves his hand roughly under fabric and grabs greedily for the other's erection. He knows the mechanics of at least part of it (he has, after all, got a working dick of his own), but the fine tuning will have to come later. He figures grabbing hold with his very large hand and stroking him from root to tip to make sure he's fully on board with the plan is a good start, and from the noises it definitely is.

He has… his hand. In another man's pants. A man who – not so long ago – shot a blaster right at his head. A man who champions the stupid Jedi and their stupid policies and who he doesn't _really_ know if he can trust. But… he thinks he can. He's seen deeper into that head of his than anyone else ever will, and he's sure that his misguided Do-Gooding attitude will somehow mean Poe doesn't want to kill him. Even without the… sex. Thing.

Which is apparently happening. He lets go of his hands, but only so he can grab Poe's thighs and force them up and around his waist. When he takes a half-step back, the man figures out in time to put his arms around Kylo, and then somehow he gets them both on the ground without much more effort. Poe is still dressed, just with an open shirt, and his dick springing proudly from his pants. It could almost be considered ridiculous, but it's the most arousing thing Kylo thinks he's ever seen. Poe's hair is even more ruffled now, his eyes blown with pleasure and his skin _glowing_ , and Kylo has to lean in to bite and lick and kiss his way all over his face, tugging at his lip, gnawing at his earlobe, sinking teeth into the arched, offered column of his throat. He grabs the pilot's pants and shoves them down, down towards his ankles, and he lets him wiggle the rest of the way out of them.

That way he can grab behind his knees, low on his thighs, and bend them towards his ears so Poe's practically folded in half.

"We need…" don't they? He can't just… slip it in… for a moment, he allows his worry to show; a chink in the armour indicating that whilst he might be very, very much in favour of this… he's also somewhat… lacking in the practice department. His adam's apple bobs around a long swallow, a question in his eyes even as he holds Dameron in a very, very constricted position. "I… want you. I want to be **in** you." But that requires some preparation, possibly? And… substances? His eyes skit around, looking for the bag of supplies. Something in there must suffice?

Poe's eyes are wide with delight at the rough treatment, at the way the other man has him on the ground so fast (even if the wall was nice, too. Very nice. Rough and harsh and primal, and him spread against it, like a spoil of war.) But the ground is good, too, and having his hands free again – at least for now – means he can reach up and hold on, palms sliding over Ren's shoulders and up the back of his neck, lacing through his hair. Not harsh, not pushing, just… touching.

The other man is so much more human like this. Still powerful, still dangerous, still deadly – by the Force, _yes_ – but human, too, and Poe likes that connection. There's some sense deep down that maybe at some point the connection could even be a tender one, although right now his blood is crying out for something that is anything _but_ tender.

He wants to be split in two. He wants to be screwed so far out of his own mind that he feels like he's flying. He's been tortured by the other man and he wants that same focus, that same drive, that same _relentless insistence_ , but skewed towards a better end. A mutually-welcomed end.

Ren's words make Poe smile – not at all unkindly – and look up and around from his very much floored position until he spots where he dropped the bag of supplies _this_ time. Close enough. He reaches up and manages to latch his fingers around the edge of the shoulder-strap, tugging it towards them both.

"Sometimes in life you have to improvise."

Or just go without. Or… no, Dameron, seriously, you need to be able to _walk_ in the morning.

Anything that later becomes a habit, or second-nature, must first be done for the first time. Anything. Sex included. So Kylo tries to put a brave face on it and opens up the satchel, rummaging through in a somewhat… well. Pace-breaking way. If he had the Force, still, he could likely find some way to get past the requirement for sexual aids, but he doesn't, and he thinks he needs them.

Also it gives him a moment to think. Unfortunately nothing he sees has a note on it saying: 'in case of emergency, use as sexual lubrication', and he finds himself trying to guess what is a) most suitable and b) most expendable. He grabs an antibacterial spray, but that looks like it's too… uh… prone to evaporation. Fuck.

The best he can find seems to be some kind of post-sunburn cream thing, and he holds it up for Poe to inspect and get his opinion on it, asking with only an eyebrow.

"Works for me," Poe answers. Because it does. And because he really doesn't want to wait much longer. The heat from the other man's body, the lingering thrum of battle, is intoxicating, and makes thinking in straight lines difficult.

Not that anything about Poe Dameron could ever be called 'straight', of course.

And then, because he can sense the strangest flicker of hesitation in the other man, he wraps both arms up around him again, arching to growl in his ear.

"Don't feel you have to be gentle. I'm very robust." And two seconds away from begging for it. Again.

"I need you capable of walking," Kylo replies, though he feels a little better, spurred on by the little purr. He doesn't want to injure him, but he does want… well. To do this. Quite a lot. Many years of sexual denial batter the inside of his head, screaming for him to get on with it. Especially when his partner is all-but-begging to be reamed wide open.

He figures Poe will give feedback if things are working or not, and likely be vocal about it, so he squeezes out quite a lot of the cream onto his hand. He doesn't bother to warm it, instead grabbing hold of the other man's balls and scrunching at them, letting his fingers fall behind them to rub insistently.

Poe is so damned pretty. He just… he is. Kylo had first thought that when he walked in on him, beaten, bloodied and tied to his chair, but… well. Some men have proclivities, after all. He tries to conceal his skittish nerves by shoving Poe back down again, biting fierce lines from the side of his mouth all the way to his ear. "You've never fucked a Force Master, though," he points out. (Well, assumes, anyway. Jedi don't tend to put out, and he doubts he's -- OKAY DO NOT THINK ABOUT SNOKE.) Angry, he pushes two fingers in with little ceremony more, trying to make the point that he's worth putting out for. (Not that he thinks Poe would refuse, now.)

And that makes Poe howl out in obvious, half-broken delight. And it clearly _is_ delight: the other man has made him scream before, but never like this. The force of that intrusion makes the world turn white for a second, supernovae dancing behind his eyes, until he adjusts to it. When he opens those eyes of his again, they're almost completely black with pleasure, irises subsumed by pupils, and instantly wide with very, very good shock.

"Never," he gasps out in reply – and nor would he have expected to. Always following along behind their world, fighting for it, but not quite on the same level as any Force-user; Jedi, Sith or otherwise. "Just you." And then his voice goes softer, more controlled. Not more certain – because he has been certain since this started – but definitely more aware of it. " _Master_."

At first Kylo Ren worries he might have done something wrong. It's still hard to navigate a world without the ease of the Force there, augmenting everything. He's become so reliant on it that he now worries he'd never survive long-term without it. It had never really been a possibility, before today. But then the meaning behind the vocalisation hits, and it hits hard. It hits like the _Millennium Falcon_ making a hyperspeed jump into a wall.

Kylo has been the author of great deeds, but he's never experienced such joy and pleasure at close-hand before, and it makes his insides swirl and tighten and dance and all those things he normally associates with – well – the **Force**. He wants more of that, more of that noise, more of the look in Poe's eyes. He leans back just so he can watch his face as he thrusts those two long, firm fingers into his body, feeling how he bears down on them, how he all but flutters around the intrusion. Does it really feel that good, being penetrated? It must do. His lips are lightly parted, his own eyes just as dark, as he drinks in and memorises every last inflection, every sensation, every sound and every look.

And then Poe has to go and use that word. **Master**. He is, of course. Master of the Knights of Ren, if not a Sith Lord. If not… a Jedi. But those titles come from training, from the rank and structure of the Force-user's progression. Not because someone inherently believes in you, **surrenders** to you. The doubt goes and he drops his weight onto his hand, beside Poe's head. Touches just the tip of his nose to the other man's, staring down at him, daring him to try to look away.

" _Yes_ ," he purrs, his voice even deeper with longing and desire and satisfaction and pride. "I will be your Master. And you will be _mine_." He twists his fingers deep inside at that, trying to ready him, trying to make sure the next thing won't end up needing bacta. Because he _needs_ to be inside him, to make this union whole. "Beg. Me. Beg me, and I will make you see stars you didn't know existed. I will take you to ecstasy so deep your very soul will sing. I will claim you as my own, and we will be one."

 _Mine_. It's this word that hits Poe the most – though it has some firm competition – and it leaves him breathless with a need so deep, so intense, so utterly undeniable, that for a moment it feels as though all the oxygen is gone from the universe. And he really can't look away, even though the weight of the other man's gaze is nigh-on overwhelming, holding him in place even more strongly than his grip with the Force did, earlier. Even more strongly than his hands, his body, are doing right now.

It terrifies him – _terrifies_ him – how dangerous this is. Dangerous enough to let the man close. More dangerous still to let him fuck Poe out of his mind (which is already happening, and they're not even at the main event yet). And most dangerous of all to make it more than just sex, more than just satisfying a physical impulse. To surrender. To _give_ , to a man who could easily _take_ if he chose to.

But danger is something Poe Dameron craves intensely. Maybe most intensely of all. And the way Kylo Ren looks back at him, saying those words, in a voice that is sex made manifest, is enough to overrule any lingering sense of hesitation.

He wants. He _wants_. And he is already lost in it.

" _Please_ ," Poe says, soft and sure. "Please. I surrender. I need you. Need you to take me. Need you to own me. Need you to… _win_."

"I will," Kylo promises, and the words resonate as strongly through the world as if they were a command sent out through the Force to cow a weaker mind. They're not. They're just words, and this is just a promise. A promise he has every, every intention of keeping.

He's not wholly sure how he knows, but he does. He felt something that first time he slipped inside his head, something he wanted more of. And more. And more. Poe, who stood up to him even after he'd raped his mind so thoroughly that he should hate him. Poe, who took pity on him, who helped him survive when he could have just murdered him. Poe, whose eyes are radiant – no – the _opposite_ of radiant. He doesn't throw light from his eyes, he sucks it in. Pulls the flickers of Kylo towards him, and drinks him in through the iris, swallowing him whole.

He never intended to fall for him, but he… is. He is.

The fingers pull out, but only so Kylo can toss his cloak away and over his back, can tug the many layers of protective clothing loose and let his erection slide out. He doesn't normally _indulge_ in self-abuse, so he can't even remember the last time he had more than a wet dream or a furious attempt in the shower when his sex drive got too strong to ignore. It arches up proudly, and he hopes it will be satisfying for Poe. He has no idea if it will be the wrong shape, or size, or if his complete lack of any experience will ruin things… but Poe is his. Poe belongs to him, and thus he has to do this. **Has. To.**

He grabs Poe's hands in his own again, fingers sliding between the other man's, pressing them inexorably into the ground. He wants to watch his face, unfettered, as he makes a few fumbling attempts, his dick butting up against Poe's balls and then sliding behind and… he bends him further, the position almost impossibly tight… and then he's found his entrance and he pushes all the way to the hilt in one short, sharp move. He keeps still, then, making sure Poe doesn't scream in agony, and… well. He wants to see the look on his face.

" **MINE**."

Poe _does_ scream, but it sure as the stars isn't in _agony_. The wrecked ecstasy in his voice extends to his eyes, wide with shock and bliss and something deeper; something for which no adequate word exists. Something that is just _this_ , just the experience of being pinned (yes, yes, _yes_ ) to the ground by this unbelievably powerful man and reamed open with one single, glorious thrust.

" _ **Yes**_ ," he cries out, not looking away. Not even blinking. Staring up at Kylo, eyes suddenly filled with renewed strength, renewed fire. Not because he's planning to resist, to struggle, to challenge, but because he knows the other man's victory will be all the sweeter if it's hard-won.

For both of them.

Ren can see why people do this, now. Before, he thought it was simply a means of having a reasonably good time with someone you either felt connected to, or thought looked attractive. He'd never really felt the pull enough to act on it, and he wonders if he's broken in this respect, too. He's never wanted anyone like he wants Poe Dameron, and he's not sure if he ever will want anyone the way he wants him. And that's all manner of terrifying, because they're… still on opposite sides and…

…think about that later, Kylo.

Poe's body is so warm, so tight, so wonderful around his cock. But it's not just the tight hole that's making it feel so good, and he knows that. It's not even the fact that it isn't his own hand or a pillow, and it's another warm, willing body. It's the electric… **thing** between them, this connection that he's sure is written in lines of Force weaving them tighter, tighter, tighter together. Poe belongs to him, and that's that.

And he's beautiful. Beautiful, fierce, proud, loving… kind. All the things Kylo is not. (All right, maybe fierce and proud.) He's got the kind of face that likely makes everyone want to do what he asks, that easy charm and grace that the younger man has never had. He's maddening, and Kylo just wants to hear him howl some more, howl for the gawky, beak-nosed, satellite-eared loner with emotions he wasn't supposed to have. He keeps his gaze on Poe – wordless and panting – as he slides almost all the way out… only to use his whole weight to bear back down and in. His balls slap against the other's thighs, and he does it again. Again. His ankle complains bitterly, but he's damn well going to fuck the man beneath him so hard he never wants another lover again. Right? Yes.

"Tell me this is wrong," he insists, his tone… betraying a lot more than he would normally be comfortable with. "Tell me this isn't worth falling for." Both hands under one of his own, the other grabbing Poe by the throat and forcing his head back, pressing down just enough to make his head swim. "Tell me, and I'll call you a **liar**."

Poe's eyes roll up into his head, the pleasure almost more than he can bear. He loves this too much. Loves the fact he can't move. Loves the hand on his throat. Loves the way all of reality is starting to go still, starting to shrink away to nothing, leaving only this place, this moment, this force of nature who has just flipped his whole world upside down.

"This isn't wrong," he gasps. "It isn't. I swear it." He manages to regain some kind of focus, to find the other man's eyes again, even though it isn't easy. "I swear it, Kylo…"

The name slips out – the first time he's used it like this – and he can feel what it means to say it. To acknowledge who he's with, and how much it matters. How _real_ this all is.

He wraps his legs tighter around Kylo's waist, angling his hips up a little more in order to get him as deep as possible. The movement is perfectly-timed, meaning that the other man hits _precisely_ the right place with his next thrust. And _that_ makes Poe scream in bliss, arching upwards, into Kylo's hands, into his cock, the world going black and the _words_ tumbling out.

"Yes, yes, yes, please, like that, like that, I'll do anything, anything, _anything!_ "

It's Kylo's name, his real name. The one that means 'him'. Not the Jedi-to-be who never could be, not the son of Leia and Han, but the man who forged his own path. Perhaps it wandered a little darker than he once would have liked, but his mistakes are all his own. He knows that. He knows it all too well. Hearing it fall from someone's – Poe's – lips in adulation is something he feels he isn't worthy of, but he… wants to be. Wants to be someone Poe is proud to call his lover, wants… wants. So many things.

Poe clearly knows what he's doing, from how easily he falls into place and moves under and around him. It should annoy Kylo, maybe, but it doesn't. It means this is easier, means there's less awkward failure and just pure, unadulterated bliss.

He wishes he had the Force, right now. Wishes he had more hands than the mode of two. Wishes he could stroke the man's lovely, flush cock instead of leaving it pinned between them… but then it might be over too soon. He thanks the years of rigorous training that make it possible to fuck him as earnestly as he does, giving him every inch of his dick and changing his angle to try and replicate the movement that got the other man bucking. He's not sure which of them will finish first, and he's terrified it will be him, and he'll leave Poe unsatisfied.

So he lets go of his throat and finds his cock, hand coiling around it and starting to pump it as firmly as he dares, his mouth going to the pink marks on his throat. "Only you," he murmurs, between soft kisses to sensitive, vulnerable parts. "Only you, Poe."

It would be unfair to demand anything, now. To put a price on his lust. He doesn't want to sully this, or cheapen it. It's simply a pure expression of lust and respect, and he… he… wants. That. Wants him, however he can get him. Wants to ride his ass so hard he thinks he's in the cockpit.

Poe's whole inner world whipcracks back at that, from frenetic, desperate pleading to stillness in the blink of an eye. He looks up at Kylo as dichotomies split and shatter all around him: light and dark, right and wrong, yes and no, whole and broken, until all he sees, all he feels, all he knows, is this fleeting, ceaseless _now_.

" _Yes_ ," he says again, but softer once more, caught in rapture, on the brink of a precipice, the last second of stillness before a leap into hyperspace. "Yours." A terrifying, wonderful word that means _everything_.

And then, that hand on his cock pulls him right over the edge, a single, breathless fall that yanks the world out from beneath him, pleasure ripping through him so hard, it overwhelms his mind. He screams unashamedly as the climax pulls him apart, tearing through his body, over and over until he collapses against the ground, not a single spark of energy, of _resistance_ , left in him.

Poe is even more beautiful in ecstasy, Kylo decides. The sound is so good and right and pure that it reminds him why he wandered in the first place. He can't believe it's wrong to want this, to want someone, to respect them and desire to bring them happiness. It can't be wrong.

The other man tightens around him, clenching and squeezing at his poor, throbbing dick. He wants to come, but he's decided Poe comes first. Literally and metaphorically. He's promised to be a good Master, promised to take care of him (even if not aloud), and that means making sure he's satisfied and happy. It means pushing his own desire almost to one side until he's sure Poe's had every last drop of pleasure he can give him, and he fists his palm furiously over his leaking dick, pinching and twisting and then he's exploding out in a shower of sticky, goopy mess that gets all over his robes and marks the black with hopeful, claiming white.

Fitting, really.

He keeps on stroking, even though he's sure he's milking over a dry shaft, now, and moves to purr in his ear, his words a little halting and shaky. "I will make you mine, and mine alone. I will fill you with my passion, my strength. I will keep you safe, Poe. I will keep you safe." He can promise no more, right now. No more than his best, even if it isn't good enough. He calls out the man's name right by his cheek as he thrusts the final few, hungry last times. It's too much to hold out forever, and the climax hits Kylo like a Rancor-charge to the back of his spine, making his whole body scream out in pained pleasure. It's too much, too much, and he's slamming his hands one last time as he spills inside of the other man, finally stopping and just… just panting. Panting and pleased and oh so very, very lost.

Poe's mind is so utterly gone that he can't resist – he wouldn't, but he can't – as the other man takes what he needs to end this. And that in itself feels so good that another wave of pleasure – not completion, but pleasure nonetheless – rushes through him, making his whole body tremble again, shuddering in response, feeling himself marked inside and out.

And then, all he can do is lie where he is, Kylo on top of him, trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to remember what the world looked like, how it felt, before it was changed forever.

And terrified, for a moment, that all of this is about to invert. That it might go back to how it was. That the other man might realise that he's got what he wanted and no longer needs the panting wreck of a pilot still pinned beneath him. Poe is almost never one to feel insecure, but right now… the fear is there. Along with hope. So much hope.

What do you do after… after? Kylo guesses it differs depending on your relationship. If you're dating, or more, you probably tell each other how much you love one another, cuddle, and kiss? And if it's a one-night-stand… do you say thank you? Or do you just wriggle free and get clean?

What if it's neither of those things, not really? What if you're stuck in some weird-as-hell Sith death trap of a planet with an enemy combatant who finds you as appealing as you do him, and you're consummating a fast, heady dance? Kylo… doesn't want it to be over. Not… forever. Admittedly he's not capable of doing much but panting and lying right now, but… later… later… again?

(Are you supposed to compliment them? Thank them for a good… time?)

He carefully lifts his head, just far enough to broach the idea of eye-contact, trying to see if he's not wanted any more, or if… if… He uses a thumb to slide along the side of Poe's hand, his other letting go of his cock very gently, but still buried deep inside of him. Balls-deep.

_What does this mean?_

"You are… very good at that," he decides is about as neutral as he can get, without trying to sound dismissive, and instead… quietly sincere. (Run, says a voice. This is dangerous. Run.) "I did not… hurt you… in any unpleasant ways?"

That makes Poe smile: a very natural, very open little smile that's equal parts relief and care. The fear doesn't vanish, but it does diminish, lulled back under by the other man's words, by his tone, by the continuation of _this_ , rather than any of what went before.

(But some of it is the same, the more sensible part of Poe's mind insists. Yes, they went from screaming at each other to fucking, from torture to pleasure, but… the overlap is significant. Poe knows it. And… he still needs to figure out what it means, outside of the moment, when the heat has subsided. Not because he doesn't trust it, but because he needs to make sense of it. Somehow.)

"You hurt me in all the _right_ ways," he answers, his tone soft and easy. Relaxing more under the other man, not resisting in the slightest. Revelling, almost, whilst he dares. "And… you're good at it too." His smile brightens a little, a flicker in it that borders on mischievous. "You clearly know how to put all that _passion_ to good use."

"Perhaps the years of repression were worth it, then," Kylo snarks mildly back, but mostly he's relieved that he doesn't seem to have done too badly at it, and that Poe doesn't immediately look horrified and disgusted to make the horizontal tango with a freak such as himself.

He realises this is probably not the most comfortable of positions, so he slides a hand over the pilot's (his? his pilot's?) thigh, encouraging him to get into a somewhat more long-term position. Not that they can stay curled up here like this forever, not when… well. Hellbeasts and Rancor-things are wandering around.

"We should move… but perhaps… we can allow a few moments first?" He still has hold of Poe's hands, and he's not letting go unless he has to. He allows himself a moment to let his eyes wander, to really drink in the… far too attractive man he seems to have bedded on the first attempt.

Things like that do not happen to Kylo Ren. Not… normally.

"But not too long, or we will be fighting our way back in the dark." It strikes him, then, that he's… marked, too. He might have left his own seed deep inside of Poe, but the other man more or less pissed all over his territory when he came on his robes. In a weird way, Kylo likes that.

"Take all the time you want," Poe answers. His mind is caught between two places: the usual post-coital tendency towards smiles and very light, very affectionate snark, and the deeper, newer desire to give in to this powerhouse of a man. It's a strange mix. He lies where he is, moving slightly when Kylo urges it – but no more – and otherwise staying still (caught, held, _owned_ ; by the Maker, the need is still there in his blood), looking up at the man on top of him.

Hopefully the walk back will be easier than the walk out. He really could do without any more of those _things_ , no matter how helpful they've proven to be in the long run.

Kylo clears his throat. Eyes darting to one side, and then he forces himself to look back. "You are very attractive. I am sure you already know this, but I feel I should… say as much. And I do not just mean your body and face."

Okay. So flirting isn't his forte. But he's tried, he's given it an honest crack, and he's pushed himself beyond his comfort zone. More than a little.

He decides to reward himself for that by rolling them suddenly, lying below with Poe still seated on his lap. That way he can relax, and can wrap one arm over his shoulders, fingers tickling at his nape. He throws his ankles over Poe's, making sure he feels held and secure. "I will keep you safe. I meant it when I said it."

Poe grins at him, more and more at ease with every second – a lingering flicker of surprise at the sudden roll aside – and he curls a little over Kylo once he's on top, pressing their foreheads together.

"Attractive, am I?" he says, softly. "You're not so bad yourself. And do you have any idea what you _do_ to me..?" There's a lot of inflection in this question. A lot hidden just beneath the words.

Kylo snorts. He is not attractive. He is anything but, which people had no trouble telling him, growing up. Not that he wanted any of them to _want_ him, but a lack of ridicule and a few lingering looks might have gone a long way, not all that long ago.

His hands both go up and into the other man's hair, caressing through it, softly, and turning his nose just a little to bump against Poe's. (Not hard, he could hit a microdot with it.) "I was under the impression that I commanded you into a begging, lust-mad wreck?" he says, allowing the amusement to show.

"…which…" eyes open, staring into him. Deep, deep into him. "I very much want to do again. I…" tongue out, darting over lips like a glint of sunlight on a wave-crest. "…did… not do it… lightly." Could it even work? Poe would never leave the Resistance, and Kylo can't go back, but… but…

…damnit.

"…I will understand if you feel you cannot continue."

And then, well. Then there's all _that_. Poe doesn't look away, but it's harder, now. Not because of any deception – there is no deception – but because he's scared, and he knows it shows in his eyes.

"I didn't do it lightly, either," he says. "I couldn't have. And it…" honesty, Dameron, honesty, "…it frightens me. We were enemies. You took me prisoner. Tortured me for _hours_ …" and he really cannot hide the lust in his eyes at that, though he tries, "…and then dragged me to this planet. It frightens me because everything out there is still the same as it was before the shuttle crash, but here… between _us_ … it's different."

 _Tell me it's different_ , his eyes plead, silently.

"I want to continue. I _need_ to continue."

How they make it work, he has no idea. Not yet. But just because something is difficult, it doesn't mean you should give up.

"I cannot be who you think I should be," Kylo tells him, though it half breaks his heart to admit it. "And even if I was… if I was the Jedi my parents wish I was, if I was Luke's perfect Knight…" A sigh, and one that clearly hurts all the way from his toes to his head. "If I was, then we… this…"

Could never happen. Not again. Jedi were definitely not supposed to form attachments, and even if Luke decides to alter things as he said he would, it would never… never include such dark things as this. Things Kylo… needs.

His hand goes tight in the other man's hair, bends his head back as far as it will go. Pain, pain and pleasure. The two so tightly wound in his mind, in his soul. The Darkness is too loud inside Kylo, but… that doesn't mean there's no Light, too.

"If I had been another, if I had not been born of Skywalker blood… if I had been like you… free to make of my life as I wished… free to _be_ who I wanted… but I was never anything but a thread in their infernal tapestry. My life was set before me long before I was ever born. I could never be anything **but** Kylo Ren."

It won't work. It… can't work, can it? Poe won't ever join the First Order. Kylo couldn't ever join the Resistance. He's sure the man wouldn't run away with him, which leaves them… what?

An irresistible force and an immoveable object. His hand grips tighter still, trying to make Poe cry out in pain. "This… is who I am." Kylo. Not Ben. A man pulled in two ways at once, never fully of either world, and never at peace. "Join me. Join me and… I will kill Snoke myself." There. That's something they both want, isn't it?

The pain just makes everything better. And worse. Better because it reminds Poe of what he apparently wants and _needs_ more than oxygen itself. Worse because it makes that want and that need flare like a sun, pushing him down, making sensible thought difficult.

He holds out as long as he can, though. Not from some sense of rebellion, but because he knows Kylo likes a clear, decisive victory. And because he himself, it turns out, rather likes pain.

"I won't help the First Order. But I _will_ help you. If both of us, from both of our sides, want to take down Snoke… then that is what we do."

Maybe the rest will fall into place afterwards. Or on the way. It certainly gives them time to work this out.

Kylo isn't a dyed-in-the-wool First Order member. He finds their reliance on child slave labour abhorrent, he dislikes their policies on wholesale planet-based genocide and General Hux is the most pretentious, entitled little shit he's ever had the misfortune to meet. Snoke… Snoke is a means to an end, as is the Order itself.

Quite what that end is… it's become a little muddier, of late.

He runs his lips over Poe's throat, rewarding him for both the rebellion and the acquiescence. "I ask you to join me, not… the Order. But I do need to stay in their graces, if I am ever to meet Snoke face to face." Which he hasn't. Not yet. All this time and he's been kept half a galaxy away. This could work. Could… work while they try to figure out the longer strategy.

He pushes Poe's face down, into his chest, and drops his chin on his head. I've done terrible things, he wants to say. Terrible things. How can you want to be with me, just because I please you in bed?

And then there's the Starkiller. Any minute now, it will be operational. Any minute, and… if he tells Poe here… he'll just worry even more. Maybe decide Kylo's not worth the risk, that he's too far gone. Kylo has never liked the idea of such impersonal, distant mass slaughter. Not of… not of… innocents.

He goes very quiet, mulling it over. Should he say something? They can't get out, can't help defend the galaxy from it. Does it benefit Poe in any way to know?

…he has to, doesn't he? If nothing else, the betrayal Poe would feel when they got back to the 'real' world… "There is… there is something you should know. A… project. That the First Order is close to completion on. I do not believe your Resistance knows of it."

He's going to hate him. Poe is going to hate him. This is how it ends, in a misguided attempt to put things half-right. "It is called the Starkiller project. A weapon etched into the very surface of a planet, with power far exceeding that of the Death Star. It draws from a star, and… it evaporates multiple planets at a time." His voice is cool, calculating… distant. He takes no pleasure in announcing it, none at all. He has never been proud of it, and he's sure it will now be the death of what little pleasure he might have had coming to him. But he won't lie to Poe. Not… not if they want to make this work.

The pilot's eyes go wide with shock at that, a flash of very real terror crossing his face. He knows the First Order is powerful, and has been growing ever-stronger of late, but even so, this news… is not easy to hear. Poe Dameron grew up with stories of the first Death Star, and even more stories of the second – especially given his parents' roles in the Battle of Endor – and he's seen the haunted look in Leia Organa's eyes at the mention of what happened to Alderaan.

It was a long time ago, yes, but the near-instant obliteration of an entire planet is not something people forget. Not something that should ever be forgotten, lest it happen again.

He closes his eyes for a moment, mind reeling. Trying to work out what to do. He has no way to get word to the Resistance. None at all. No way to warn them.

"We have to stop it," he says, eyes open again to stare at Kylo in urgency. "We have to find some way to…" A pause. Unconsciously pleading again, albeit with a very different goal this time. "Please. Tell me it can be stopped. Tell me… you want to."

"Anything can be stopped," Kylo agrees, though he knows it won't be easy. The First Order has heavily fortified the base, and the shields are some of the strongest known to sentient life. "I… may be able to assist in this."

If they get off this planet in time.

"…it may limit my chances of assassinating Snoke. Though… whilst he has the weapon, no one is safe." And Kylo doesn't like it. Never has. It's one thing to mow down your enemies, and even to torch a village because you're sending a message and trying to root out Resistance fighters (and did it ever work), but this… this is something he has never agreed with. And it's probably his reticence over the project that has Snoke so wary of him.

"I did not approve of it. But I also did not stop it." Which is a sin of omission, of a failure to act.

"Then help me," Poe says, all hope and desperation and _passion_. "Help me destroy it. I'll do whatever it takes. And you… you can make this right. You can prove to yourself that you're a better person than you think you are."

Prove to yourself. Not prove to _me_. Because… Poe is already confident of it. (He hopes he's not deluding himself. Hopes. _Hopes_. Trusts his own instincts, his own intuitions. Piloting may be his life, but he knows people too. It's one of the reasons he's such a good squadron leader.)

Cautious, hopeful, he puts a hand on the side of Kylo's face, watching his eyes. Trying to read each flicker of thought, not like a Jedi or a Sith, but like a soldier. Seeing every reaction, every tell. Every clue as to what the other will do next, and – maybe – why.

Kylo's first reaction to the touch is to flinch. He's so used to being walled off from the world, from everyone in it, that the simple, soft heat is strange and alien. It's not that he doesn't _trust_ Poe, it's simply that he's so out of practice that it startles him deeply. He looks apologetic, but then he sees he's being examined and he winces.

Swallows. Hard. He's sure Poe will realise any minute now the mistake he's made. Or maybe wait until they're home free, then make a dash for it. Use Kylo the same way Snoke has, or Luke, or any number of people in his life. Use him until he was wrung dry, or until his real nature became too overpowering.

"I have too many deaths on my hands to make anything right," he replies, and looks away. "Too many voices cut off from the Force. Too much Dark, too much… too much of my grandfather in my blood, in my heart. But I can help do this," he agrees. It won't begin to atone for--

\--atone.

Because he should. He knows, and has always known. The little voice of Light that never would quite die, the tiny screaming agony in him that recoils and doesn't fade, no matter what he does. He clasps his hand over Poe's, and looks up with eyes that are lost at sea, swimming in circles, never sighting shore. "I am… I have done things which you can never forgive."

Poe knows that, on one level, there is truth in this. The other man _has_ done terrible things, and – most of the time – he shows no remorse for it. No reticence, no reluctance, no indication he would do anything differently if given the chance. But, at the same time, Poe knows that sometimes you go down a path, and once you're on course you have to keep running. Have to keep going, because it's harder and more dangerous to stop than it is simply to stay on target.

_Stay on target. Stay on target. Poe has seen what little archival material there is from the day the first Death Star was destroyed. There isn't much, given that people at the time had more important things to do than try to document what was, in effect, a suicide mission with minimal chance of success, but some recordings do exist. And people always remember the glorious victory – Luke Skywalker with his one-in-a-million shot – but they pay less thought to the rest. To all the others who made that run, so few of whom returned. It was the nature of the mission: a single goal, with scarce chance to pull out once the course was set. Some were destroyed before they had the chance. Others could have done it, but they didn't… because they couldn't. Because they were locked on a goal. Do or die. Sometimes it has to be that way, but not always._

_Sometimes, you just need someone to remind you that there is still an alternative. Even in the trenches of the Death Star._

_Ask Commander Antilles._

"You can't undo the past," Poe says, softly. "But you can alter how things play out from here on in. Pull up. Choose a different target. The only thing I couldn't forgive is staying on the same course just because it's easier than finding a different one."

He looks the other man in the eyes. Right in the eyes. "I've killed people too. And whilst I had my reasons, and I stand by those reasons, and I wouldn't have done it _without_ those reasons… on some level, I still enjoyed it. And I don't regret it."

A tiny, tiny smile. "I knew you were lying," Kylo says, which is somewhat redundant right now. He's been so far inside the other's head… well. He hasn't seen everything, but he's seen plenty.

He wonders what Poe would think if the tables were turned, if he were Force sensitive, and he could read through the dark, confusing maelstrom that is Kylo Ren's inner life.

Brown eyes close, and he takes a step… a step inside. There's two very, very loud voices both clamouring for his attention. One screams bloody vengeance in his head, says he mustn't forget the horrors, mustn't forget the lies and the inhumanity of their so-called 'Light' side. Says he enjoys the murder and the blood and the screaming and the killing and the doing what he wants and…

…then there's that other voice. The one he has tried for years to pretend isn't there. The one he's tried to smother with increasing levels of violence, only to find it still won't. Give. Up. Hope. Hope for himself, an inner knowledge that what he's doing is just plain _wrong_. But what other way is there? Subsuming the self in a zen-like, emotionless shield arm for transient, impossible concepts like 'justice' and 'fairness' and 'equality' and 'freedom'… or the blazing heat inside that craves so much? Craves violence and love and respect and… freedom. Again, that word.

Neither world is his. Not the insanity of slaughter, and not the calm of distance. Kylo opens his eyes again, and… hope? "There… could… be a way out of this. It… would not be easy. It may not work." He turns his head, nuzzles gently at the palm by his cheek. "Not Jedi, but not… Snoke, either. If… if you will help me?" He won't give up on how this feels, how _Poe_ feels. He thinks it just might be what he needs to find his balance, but he's terrified of failing at this, too.

…and worse… of confessing his sins, of facing those he's wronged, of… of his **family**.

"I'll help you," Poe tells him, softly. Surely. Aware, still of the weight of what he's saying. Such simple words, lacking in eloquence, and yet heavier than even the most impassioned speech from the most beloved leader. The moment, too, of commitment.

_Proton torpedoes away..!_

What comes next, comes next.

"I'll help you." Again. A little firmer. Just as sure. "We take down this Starkiller. We take down Snoke. These are both things the Resistance would want."

So easily said. So easily said and yet near-impossible to achieve. But these things always start with someone saying they must be so, and then hurtling onwards to the end, whatever it may be.

The younger man nods, just once. Starkiller. Snoke. Two dots, connected by a line of wanting. A desire to right things, but also… also because it _should_ be so. Kylo's still not sure he could ever face… them. Those people. Those who he… ran from… but he can do these two acts. He can do them, and then, perhaps, he'll be free.

Free… to do what he wants to. _Be_ who he wants to. Free to – perhaps – love who he wants to, too. "We should get back to the pod. Although I would happily lie like this for some time… it is not the safest place for us to be."

It's a little unfortunate that they chose next to a dead Rancor for their first time, but it's probably apt.

Poe nods, a smile crossing his face again, hinted with a flicker of warm amusement. "That's assuming I can _walk_ ," he says, flirting unashamedly.

It is a fair point, too, though. He _does_ still feel like he's been split in half, and whilst it is a very – very – lovely sensation, he'd much rather lie and enjoy it than go back to trekking through hostile terrain.

But. Kylo is right, they really shouldn't linger here. Poe leans in to kiss the man very lightly on the lips, one more time, and then – somewhat slowly – he starts to stagger to his feet.

He's in quite a state. They both are.

BB-8 is going to get rather a shock.

"At least I got something right," Kylo replies, a little flicker of self-consciousness in his tone as he lets the other kiss him. It… it is nice. Being kissed. Being touched. Being… **wanted**. Maybe all those soppy stories are more accurate than he'd thought.

And then… even Darth Vader had fallen in love. Many said that was what broke him, but Luke has always claimed it saved him, just… a lot later than most would have wanted.

It feels weird to let his cock slide out, even though it's no longer hard. He hurriedly tucks himself away, and then gets up to offer support for Poe as he redresses. His fingers want to slide back under those clothes, but he knows they can't. Not here, not now. He scoops his lightsabre back up, and… no. Not much he can do about the drying stains all over his robes.

"Next time, I might make you kneel on all fours so you don't make quite so much of a mess," he complains, but mildly. "Or do you enjoy marking your territory, _pilot_." But the title is more… term of endearment now.

Flirting comes naturally to Poe Dameron, and now he's free to do it, he sees no reason to hold back. ( _Free to do it_? Just how long _did_ he want this for, before it happened?)

He steps in close – redressed, now, but still very dishevelled – and looks up at the taller man. "I enjoyed it. But I'd enjoy the kneeling even more. Caught, helpless, _used_ … oh yes…"

Another quick kiss, with a hint of a bite, this time to the other man's jaw.

That earns him a hand in his hair, clutching eye-wateringly tight and holding him in place to make good on the promise of teeth and lips, his breath catching around a longing note. " **Later** ," Kylo commands, reluctantly. He loves the sight of people on their knees, doubly so when it's Poe, apparently. And in all different ways.

His own lips and teeth scrape over the other man's temple, using his height to his advantage. "I will make good use of every orifice and body part. Once we're back to safety. Perhaps, if you ask nicely, I may even show you how well I can inflict pain with only my finger and thumb…"

Kylo's version of flirting is less… standard. He kisses Poe one final time before he turns him around (hand still in his hair) and starts him off walking ahead. He can't keep clutching his hair forever, so eventually his head gets shoved forwards as the Force-user smacks him onwards.

It's becoming increasingly obvious to Poe how much he likes 'less standard'. It's no secret to him that he likes a bit of rough-and-tumble, but this? It surprises him. And… doesn't. Mostly doesn't. Some things in life make a lot of sense when you work them out, or… have them proven to you by a power-crazed proto-Sith on a remote planet, once the two of you have stopped screaming at each other.

It still scares him a little, though, because the things he finds he wants are very much 'less standard'. Or… they certainly feel that way, at least. Not wrong, though. Not wrong at all. Just… different.

He lets his pleasure at the promise – the _threat_ – show in his eyes, but allows himself to be pushed onwards, rather than trying to wind the other man up a little. Even though that's apparently fun, now he realises he's doing it. And… oh dear, but some of his recent, _un_ pleasant memories now have this weird filter over them, making him see them in a different light.

He wonders when the shock is going to hit. Because… it is going to hit.

Scooping up their supplies, and his blaster, Poe starts to follow the route back through the thick, hot forest. He keeps the weapon out, in case anything else nasty decides to jump them, though the undergrowth remains still as they walk.

Hopefully it will stay that way. He has enough to be thinking about right now.


	6. Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the love you've been sending our way!
> 
> In response, have another chapter. By which we mean: more smut! ;-)

Kylo walks them as fast as he can, channelling every pained, electric-jolt in his leg into something else. Darksiders normally use pain and rage to fuel their Force-wielding activities, but as this planet seems to want to make a man out of him without it, he's banking it all in a new place inside: The Bank Of Poe Dameron Screaming In That Lovely Way He Does. Kylo is going to be the sole stakeholder in said bank.

A few times he thinks he feels eyes on him, but if they are there, they don't make a move for it. When it starts to get a little too dark, he flicks out his blade and opts to walk ahead again, even though he can no longer watch that ass of Poe's and fantasise about it.

Kylo has a _lot_ of years to make up for. He wonders how fast Humans can recover. Maybe when he has the Force again he'll be able to bend the rules a little.

When they do get back (and it seems shorter going back, maybe because they know the way, maybe because the path is cleared) he flicks off his lightsabre and before he's managed to say anything the little astromech comes spinning over almost faster than can possibly obey the laws of physics.

"I didn't kill your Master," Kylo tells it, realising that BB-8 never really left Poe's power, never actually became his own. "So you can stop thinking about your little shock weapon." He had been privy to that, earlier, when trying to extract the map from him.

"Hey, you," Poe says, instantly dropping down onto one knee to rest his forehead against BB-8. The droid lets him, but then quickly whirls back as if noticing the state he's in – more bloodied, more battered, and also now… the other thing – and then starts looking between Poe and Kylo, attention flitting back and forth in what is clearly the droidly equivalent of a _'What the fuck?!'_ moment.

Then there is a great deal more bleeping, some of it agitated, some of it concerned, and some of it clearly defensive.

Poe puts a hand on BB-8's chassis, trying to still him "It's OK, it's OK," he insists. "I'm all right. We're both all right, and–"

Another outburst of chirruping from the little droid, no less intense.

"Things… things happened. But it's OK. It was mutual. And Kylo–"

Some very alarmed noises now, obviously in response to the use of the other man's first name.

"…Kylo is going to help us. And we're going to help him. And… we made a deal."

BB-8 chitters again, then goes silent. Clearly still somewhat concerned.

"You don't have to worry about me trying to extricate the real map from you, for the time being," Ren tells him, although that's possibly _not_ the best, most reassuring thing to say after the previous conversation. "And… Poe… is safe with me. **From** me." Other than any screaming noises he makes that are not, precisely, unhappy.

BB-8 makes the equivalent of an 'mmm-hmm' at him.

"You can doubt me all you want. I don't have to explain myself to a droid." Okay. Apparently that's a sore spot. Ren flicks his cloak back, more out of habit than anything else. It's a self-comforting measure.

"It really is OK," Poe insists, as he rises to his feet again. "Trust me."

It's obvious that BB-8 is not yet convinced, but he doesn't push the issue any further, and instead starts bleeping – more excitedly – about something else. Poe looks at him in surprise, then looks off beyond the crashed escape pod.

"What? Where?" he says. "When did it… OK, OK, show me."

And BB-8 whirls off across the open amphitheatre, leading the way over to a point where, earlier in the day, there was just a high, flat wall, blocking a whole section of the ruin. Now, though, the wall has opened up, and there's a new space beyond. It's covered in short grass, bounded by several trees, and taking up one whole side is a wide pool of water, with a waterfall cascading down from a good fifteen feet overhead, pouring in from somewhere unseen. The whole space glitters in the moonlight – the sun having set on their walk back – and it looks so enticing that Poe can only assume it's some sort of reward for their success at the end of that long, forest path.

Well, OK, Kylo's success. Even if Poe helped.

"Have you analysed the water?" Kylo asks, having trailed behind them at a respectful distance. He values his ankles, after all.

BB-8 replies that of course it has, and it's fine. So is the fruit.

Fruit… Kylo realises he can't remember the last time he ate… he walks up to one of the trees, arching up gracefully to pull some of them free. They don't look much like anything he knows, but if the droid is prepared to let Poe eat them, they must be fine. He tosses one to the pilot, and then brings the second one to his mouth. It smells strangely bitter-sweet, but the taste when he bites into it is just sharp, acidic sugar. It dribbles a little down his chin, and he swipes the mess with the back of his hand.

"Oh, that's so much better," Poe murmurs, in between mouthfuls. He hasn't eaten in Maker-knows-how-long either (since Jakku? Really? It's a wonder he's still standing) and when he's finished the first, he paces over for a second, obviously delighted to eat something other than the emergency field rations they would otherwise have had to resort to.

This day has improved a lot in the last couple of hours. And then some.

And then… _water_. Which he wants all over him, right now. He is in quite a state, after all. So, without any kind of forewarning – and without the slightest hint of shame – he starts pacing towards the pool, stripping off his clothing as he goes. All of it. The water is shallow near the edges, but deepens rapidly, and he just lets himself fall into it all at once, ducking under the surface for a second before emerging in a spray of droplets, hair slick against his head, looking positively delighted.

One minute you're eating fruit – much-needed carbohydrates and fluids – trying not to want to kick your… boyfriend?'s … pilot's droid… the next you're watching, slack-jawed, as said pilot peels layer after layer off, like they were never meant to be there in the first place. Like the natural state of Poe Dameron is naked and walking into water, letting it creep up over ankles and thighs and then swallow him entirely.

Kylo might have rudely savaged said ass, but he didn't really… well. Get chance to examine it. Visually. And now he feels robbed by the sudden lack of it, and by the time Poe comes back up to breathe in air? He's literally standing with one fruit-filled hand in front of his groin and a guilty look on his face.

How… how did he… how did he manage to claim such a glorious creature? Why is he so happy to be naked? **Why is that damned droid still in earshot?**

"This… this isn't for you to see," he mutters at BB-8, trying to wave him away. Poe's his, now. Naked Poe is. BB-8 can have some visitation rights, but not when Poe's doing things to Kylo's – ahem – second lightsabre.

BB-8 makes a very, very unimpressed sound when Poe drops into the water – exasperation, one might say, as though this is similar to something that has happened before – and then an even more unimpressed sound when Kylo tries to shoo him off. He doesn't look like he's planning to comply – too concerned for his pilot – but then Poe looks over at him and gives him a little headtilt.

"I told you, it's OK. Just… maybe give us some space?"

The droid hesitates a second – most likely out of mischief – and then scurries off, bleeping as he goes, disappearing off in the direction of the pod.

Which is when Poe – thoroughly amused by the whole affair – looks up at the proto-Sith Lord he appears to have attracted. "Want me all to yourself, do you?" he asks.

"I thought I made myself clear on that front earlier," Kylo replies, still covering his crotch. He admires the view, cut off as it is, and licks at his lip again. "I don't share." Now he wonders if Poe is asking just to tease, or if he's… no. No. Kylo doesn't want to think about **actually** having to share. His lip curls around a half-swallowed snarl.

"Doesn't it bother you?" The droid, the nudity… any of this? He's feeling most assuredly uncomfortable, and it's very easy to see. The fact that he's still fully clothed and trying to hide his erection is something of a giveaway.

Poe gives a very damp shrug. "I'm a pilot. One of many. When you live in very close proximity with a group of people, you learn not to be too worried about these things. Besides… don't you like the view?"

He's feeling braver. Better. It's hard not to want to enjoy himself a little, in the midst of everything else. Plus, he thinks the other man needs some incentive to relax.

"I would enjoy it better if you were less hidden," Kylo replies, with a tilt to his head that is much more relaxed than he normally would allow himself to be. "You should bathe yourself where I can watch." He nods to a smooth, flat rock near the falling water, his blood burning hotter at the thought of it.

"You will sit there and clean yourself for me."

This gets him a quirk of an eyebrow and another grin. Poe considers resisting, considers trying to provoke the other man, but… no. No. He can behave, too. Sort of. This time. And he does still ache a great deal, so maybe _not_ asking for it up-front would be a good idea.

This time.

So he moves, slowly, languidly, over to the rock by the waterfall, bobbing up onto it with far more grace than is at all reasonable for a man in his current condition, and dropping his head back to let the very edge of the falling water rush over him. It cascades over his head, over his shoulders, running through his hair, and he closes his eyes in contentment. He doesn't even wince when his hand goes up to scrub off the blood, though maybe it's because the pain is so familiar.

Or the other thing.

And then… well, if the other man wants a show, Poe Dameron will sure to blazes give him one. He slides a hand down over his abdomen, pushing it between his legs, wrapping it around his cock. Stroking. _Stroking_. His eyes close again, lips parting just a little, breath catching with a soft murmur.

"You aren't fully clean," Kylo says, his tone lightly chiding. "There's the evidence of last time, first." And yes, he does want to see that ass. Does want to see him clean where he'd claimed him… because then he can do it all over again.

"You do not touch your cock without my permission from now on, unless you need to urinate or dress yourself. Is that clear?"

That's more like it. Poe stares over at him with dark, _dark_ eyes, giving his cock one last, rebellious stroke before letting go and parting his legs a little further, dropping back onto one elbow. It has to be the elbow of his uninjured arm, because there's no way he can hold his whole weight on the other, but he does still have enough strength in his injured arm to do what he's planning.

Which would be to slip a (mercifully wet) finger inside himself. The angle is a little tricky – and it's not as though he does _this_ often – but it's amazing what can be achieved with some determination. And he waits until that finger is right up to the knuckle before he speaks, knowing what that will do to his voice. Hoping the other man likes it. Hoping he's still judging this right.

"Perfectly clear," he murmurs.

Merciful Force, but that… is far, far too hot. Kylo's cheeks blush a bright, stinging red with how beautifully debauched his pilot looks, spearing himself on his finger for him. He wonders if he could get him off without ever touching him, just by telling him to do things… that will definitely need to be explored.

But later. His own cock aches in his thick, tough robes and he wishes he weren't so heavily dressed. Every last inch of fabric sits on him like a death shroud, now, keeping him locked up tight when he just… he wants to…

"Come here, to me," he says, his voice almost **chthonic** , dripping arousal as much as those low-hanging fruits did. "Now you're clean, you can undress and bathe me. And if you do so well, I'll let you find your release. If you don't…"

He isn't sure he could hold himself to that, but he likes to think he would. (He's also trying very, very hard not to imagine the droid watching them from a distance. Very hard.)

It's a moment before Poe moves, because – damn it – this feels good. And he likes the other man watching him. Likes the way he can hear in Kylo's voice just how affected he is. But… he also likes the idea of laying hands on him again. Of getting _more skin_. He can tell the other man is a little reticent in that regard, and he wants to prove to him that he doesn't have to be.

So he slips back into the water and crosses the pool once more – and, oh, that alone feels good – rising up on the opposite side and pacing closer to the man. Kylo. His… _lover?_

He's naked, and dripping wet, but fabric dries – especially in the heat of the days this planet seems to endure – so he sees no reason not to step in close. His hands slide up – careful, respectful – over Kylo's shoulders, before slipping down to start undoing clothing. Taking it slow, and pressing in at the same time to kiss the man very lightly on the jaw again. He hasn't been told not to, after all. And either it will be well received, or harshly received.

And either option works.

Kylo is trying very, very hard not to flinch away from those hands. He's not used to such close proximity, and definitely not it being welcome. He turns his head to watch those warm, olive fingers work away the outer layer of his cloak, first. His clothing is a veritable puzzle-block of clasps, buttons and hooks, and he doesn't envy Poe trying to do this for the first time.

"Tell me," he growls, allowing the kiss for the moment, but mostly because he feels like he's going to _explode_ and the fingers aren't even touching **skin** , yet. "Tell me, Poe Dameron, is there anything your perverted little heart _doesn't_ get off on?"

It serves two purposes, asking: the first is the very obvious, filthy implication… the second being a polite request for boundaries. Kylo knows Poe likes things… rough… but he also wants to know if there's anything that will utterly spoil the mood. So he can avoid it.

"Or would you do nigh on anything I asked? Would you take my boots off with your mouth and lick me clean from head to toe? Would you take my sabre in your mouth and suck it to show me what you'd do to me?"

There's something so very _normal_ about the inevitable boundaries-conversation. Possibly Poe needs to remember that this time he's having it with a Sith Lord in all but name, and include things that don't tend to come up with other people. Possibly he also needs to remember that he is now doing things he's never done before.

"Plenty," he answers, though he still manages to make it sound bad. "Bodily fluids aside from come. Oh, and blood, apparently." He doesn't even look sheepish at that, though he really should, because it's a new discovery and it ought to be an alarming one. "Animals. Maiming. Unwilling third parties." Threesomes have their place, but this is never going in that direction. He knows a one-man man when he sees him. And gets fucked by him. "Permanent damage." Same as maiming, but something tells him he should maybe flag that one up twice.

And then, well. He should probably be honest about the rest of it. "I'm still learning. Before today… I've done it rough, sure, and I know I'm less shy than most. But… this is new. I didn't even know I wanted it until… until…"

He pushes the robe back from Kylo's shoulders, hands running slowly over his skin. Poe's shaking more than a little, though he doesn't know it. Doesn't know that his mind is already slipping.

"…until you told me to kneel."

He's more scared than he'll admit. Or, than he'll admit without outside impetus, at least.

Kylo memorises the list, more than happy with it. He's glad he asked, though he doubts he would have done anything Poe's detailed, it's still good to know. And also, it's his unspoken promise to respect his lover, not to roll over him in search of pleasure. Or not in ways he wouldn't enjoy, anyway.

"I will remember those," he assures the other man. "And you will tell me the moment that anything you do not enjoy happens, or the soonest you are capable of it." If he doesn't work it out for himself. "I mean not to harm you…"

He takes Poe's chin between finger and thumb, turning his head so their eyes meet. "I swore to take care of you, and I will." The hands on bare flesh are… slowly driving him out of his mind. His eyes are all but black with longing, his chest rising and falling raggedly around uneven breaths.

"We shall learn together, then." His upper torso – pale and faintly scarred – is bared, and the robes hang from the circle of fabric around his waist like a present half-unwrapped. He's lean and firm; years of training and Spartan living have done that to him. He puts his hand on Poe's head, the pressure gentle, but sure, asking him to kneel all over. "For I have made no other kneel for me, nor do I intend to, again."

Not like that, anyway. Not… sexually. He hopes Poe understands what he's telling him, what he's offered: he might have been the active partner, but Poe very much deflowered him before, and Kylo is more than prepared to make it a binding, permanent arrangement. Kylo's pretty damn sure that you don't go around meeting people who invert your whole worldview overnight every day. Definitely don't meet someone who makes your entire body suddenly come alive in ways it never did. He's addicted to this, to him, and he's prepared to move heaven and earth to keep it from stopping.

Poe's eyes go wide at that. He didn't know. Yes, he can tell the other man is reticent about some things, but it's perfectly normal to stay that way your whole life, if that's who you are. He certainly didn't think it meant…

"…I had no idea," he whispers, and hopes Kylo takes it as a compliment, rather than anything else. "You… you seemed so… " A pause. Breathe. "I couldn't tell."

Clearly the other man is a very quick learner, in more ways than one. Though that shouldn't really come as a surprise.

Poe drops down onto his knees, smoothly, gracefully, but doesn't lower his head, keeping his eyes on the other man. Needing to see his face, to have at least some clue as to what he's thinking. He'd like to look at other places, too – the man is a sight to behold, even if Kylo himself clearly hasn't worked that out, yet – but, for now, focusing seems more crucial.

"You want… only me?" The surprise is there in his voice. Not because he doesn't want the same – he does, and that's there too – but because, charm and piloting skills aside, he doesn't feel like he's anything special. No Force-abilities. No political smarts. Good enough for other pilots and good enough in the cockpit, but how, exactly, has he managed to snare himself a Sith Lord?

From the stain of blood across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, Kylo's clearly embarrassed to admit it, but… he… he wants the other man to know. Wants him to realise what this means for him. What it meant, when he slipped into his body, when he sealed the union the way they did.

Poe doesn't seem to mock him for it, and that bolsters him a little more. He's made him happy, he's satisfied him, so he thinks he couldn't have been _that_ bad. "Jedi do not. And then…" he lets a little anger into his face and voice, "…no one was even halfway sufficient to tempt me."

Until you. He trails two fingers over the edge of Poe's hairline, a very faint smile on his curved lips. "I want only you," he says, his voice certain. "Just you. And not simply because you… not just because you wanted to see something other than my mask." The metaphorical one, as well as the physical. "Can't you feel it? Even without the Force, I can. You're bound to me, and I to you." He wishes he had it, right now. Wishes he could show him mentally what he knows to be true. Instead, all he can do is gaze down at Poe lovingly, a promise of pleasure and pain and so, so much more in his gaze.

"You are what the Dark in me reaches out for, Poe Dameron. Not slaughter, not genocide, not Snoke, and not his lie of an Order. You, your suffering… your Light born from Dark… you were made to serve me, and I to rule you." He believes it, and the weight of it hits him as hard as any training blow, any wound inflicted in the heat of battle. He can be himself with Poe, he can indulge in those cruel, twisted little things he **needs** to, and in doing so he can cause the other bliss. The tall man stoops – truly stoops, bent over from the waist, and clutches Poe's throat as hard as he can. As hard as he can until he opens his mouth and Kylo can kiss him as he was always meant to be kissed: full of fury, teeth, pain and – above all – **passion**.

There are, broadly speaking, two types of terror in the world. The first is the classic form: fear of a thing, and a profound desire to avoid or prevent it. The second is more complex: fear, again, but without the desire for avoidance. Often, in fact, with the opposite; the desire for _more_. It is what turns some people into adrenaline junkies, into thrill-seekers. Into pilots, perhaps. And it is this kind of terror that flares – familiar and wonderful – in Poe's chest at the other man's words.

On one level, he still can't quite work out how all this happened. Mere hours ago, they were enemies, all but ready to kill each other, and now… now they have bound themselves to each other without a fraction of hesitation. And it does terrify him, but not because he doesn't want it. Not because his heart and soul aren't _singing_ with the possibilities. But… because he knows what it means. How _much_ it means.

How dangerous it is. But when you fly, you learn to make snap decisions. Learn to trust that, sometimes, a second's thought is all that's needed. That, sometimes, _you just know_.

He looks up at the other man, dark eyes pleasure-shot, and he knows. He _knows_.

And it terrifies him.

And then Kylo is holding him, kissing him, with such physical force that it makes Poe cry out against the other man's lips, the position and the roughness hurting more than a little. Another shock of pleasure races through him, not just physical gratification – though that is part of it – but mental, too. Emotional. A growing understanding that this is what he _needs_ and has been missing for too long.

"Then rule me," he gasps, when he can. "Take what's yours." A pause, and it's all there in his eyes. Open and honest and sinking fast. " _Master_."

"Finish what your hands started." The command rings through the air, as forceful as any Kylo's pushed into someone's mind, but only his will and his words to back it up. No fine lines of subtle, hidden power. He stays bent at the waist, so Poe will have to reach, and his hand remains around his throat. He can feel every time Poe swallows, feel every time he expands his chest with fresh air. He gazes down and knows that Poe won't wander from his eyes until allowed to. The connection makes something inside… snap into place. A circuit long frazzled, now closed, allowing the electricity to flow smoothly once more.

"Undress me. Please me. Show me those skills of yours, and I will claim you forever as my own, my **partner**." The word is not lightly chosen. In saying it, he wants Poe to know that for all he's ruled, he still values him. He still sees him as worthy, as his match. He knows that surrender isn't easily offered, not for anyone. And for him to give it to a Darksider such as himself…

Kylo moves his hand up from Poe's throat to under his jaw, forcing his mouth open, making it clear what it is he wants from him.

The command is all the impetus Poe needs to get back to what he's been doing. The hand on his throat does make it harder, though it's not the only thing that gets harder as a result and… wow, OK, is it normal to enjoy something like that? _This much?_

If it isn't, it should be. Because. Because. _Yes_.

He gets the other man's pants open and starts pulling his clothing down, trying to strike a balance between sensual undressing and oh-Force-yes-please-now. It is not an easy balance to find, but he's happy enough with the result, and more than a little distracted by what comes next. Which… is wrapping his lips around the other man's cock and taking him deep, all at once, and… OK, seriously, if Kylo has been celibate up until today, that means no one's ever done _this_ to him before, either.

Time to show him what he's been missing.

It is easier to be undressed than to do it himself, and in ordering Poe to do it, Kylo is neatly sidestepping a lot of his own self-image issues. Also, it seems Poe _likes_ to do it, and likes to see him undressed, which helps fight the tiny voices back into a box and allows him to focus on the moment. He lets the warm fingers soothe, not sting, and when Poe pushes his briefs down and his cock springs free and eager to meet him, he smiles at the sudden--

\-- the--

\-- and--

For a moment, Kylo's brain just shorts. No matter how much training a man goes through, it really doesn't prepare you for the sudden feel of lips and tongue and… how the hell is Poe fitting all of that inside? He grabs hold of the back of his head, hissing sharply and losing his composure for a moment. Kylo has to lock his knees to make sure he stays upright, and he wonders… wonders if…

…if he keeps hold of his hair like that, and straightens up so he's standing proud and throwing his shoulders and head back to call out to the sky, if he slams Poe Dameron down to swallow his cock as far as his body will take it, chokes him on it, fills his throat and pushes all air out of him… if he takes his mouth like he took his ass… that's what he wants, right? That's what Poe is offering? He wants Kylo to use him so utterly, to make it **burnstinghurt**? The cry he launches out to the sky likely worries the droid, but Kylo's too far gone in the moment, in that perfect moment of control to give one flying fuck.

Eyes blazing, he looks down and waits until Poe doesn't seem to be able to take it any more – waits a half a moment longer – and then pulls him off to let him gulp in air.

By the Force, the Maker, or anyone-slash-thing that may be up there, this feels _good_. The position is awkward and the rough treatment is fucking _perfect_ , and Poe just goes with it, letting the other man take, and take, and _take_ , and then gasping when he finally gets the chance to breathe again.

And oh, he enjoys that. The adrenaline once more, of course. Though… not just that.

He looks up, looks into Kylo's eyes: naked, panting, and already thoroughly debauched, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the memory of the other man. Silently offering more.

"No one else," Kylo says, looking up in another prayer to the skies. "No one else gets you. You're **mine** , now." And when he looks down to close the circuit again, his hair haloed by the light of the stars and the planet's moon alone, lips parted and expression **triumphant** , you can see why the man fell. Someone such as Kylo Ren _feels_ too brightly to _ever_ walk only in the Light.

He never lets go of Poe's hair, never gives him a moment's respite from the stinging pain in his scalp. He wants to burn aching bliss through every last inch of him, and by the Force does he plan on making him scream in ecstasy before they collapse. The Ren Lord pushes him down again, this time knowing he's still mildly hypoxic from before, but dancing that fine line between giddy low-oxygen saturation and blacking out. He hits the back of his throat with rough, angry shunts of his hips, and just when they've fallen into a rhythm, into a dance, he yanks him off.

Yanks him off, slaps him resoundingly around the face with an open palm, and follows through by forcing the man to fall forwards onto his palms, bent onto all fours and ready for him.

He knows that a single finger swirling in his hole won't have cleared Poe out fully, and when he shoves two fingers of his own back into him – all the way into him – he feels the sticky mess of their last coupling still coating him inside. "You're still filled with me," he coos, voice rough with what that knowledge does to him. "I'm going to put more inside of you. I'm going to fill you up with me, so you know who you belong to. I'm going to make sure no one ever loves you but me, ever again." He drags his fingers almost out, swirling the come and traces of makeshift old lube back to his hole, and twists the tips just inside his entrance, making him want this good and hard. He wants Poe to beg for it, wants him to need it more than he needs air. Kylo isn't too sure what feels good, but he's a quick enough learner to read the other man's responses and put the pressure and attention where it gets a reaction.

More or less face-down in the grass – with no time to prepare himself for the sudden shift in position – Poe can only breathe for a moment, mind whiting out as those two fingers shove into him, rough and possessive and _insistent_ and oh, but he likes that. There is something very helpful about knowing where things stand, and something dangerously wonderful about having little say in it.

Though, he wouldn't ask for anything different if he did have a choice. He manages to prop himself on his forearms, trying to give the other man the very best access – and angle – for what he's doing. This really is such a vulnerable position, far more so than being on his back, and the thrill of that thought chases through him too, making him whimper even louder in response to every last movement of Kylo's fingers deep inside him.

And Poe really is whimpering now, a mixture of need and desperation and pleasure all wrapped up in one, the emotions all feeding back on themselves, winding him higher.

" _Yes_ ," he gasps, voice utterly wrecked. "Please. _Please_. I'm yours. I'm yours. Take me. Fuck me. Please…"

He really does beg so beautifully, his voice sounding like the sweetest thing Kylo has ever heard in his life. The shattered grace he holds, even ass-up in the air, offering his body and his… and his heart? Definitely his mind… does he even know what a precious thing it is he is giving up? Does he even appreciate what it means?

Kylo swirls those fingers around and around, pulling him wider open, making sure he's ready for it. Ready enough that the sting will just be pleasure-pain, and not injury-pain. He's significantly wider than his fingers, after all. He watches with fascination as Poe's body swallows them up, the tremors in his thighs and the movement of his spine… and then he pulls his fingers out and drops to one knee behind him (the bad ankle), his other foot planted firmly to the ground for purchase.

He grips the shorter man's hip with one hand, the other taking his spit-wet cock and holding just below the tip to guide himself in. He's so damn hard there's not much assistance _needed_ , and then he's grabbing Poe's waist and hips and with one, sure push he slams in so hard he's fairly sure he's almost pushed his balls in, too. Poe's body opens around him, but pushes back, too, holding him in place. He lets himself revel in that sensation for only a moment before he's **moving**. And moving. And moving. This time it's easier, and this position means he can put more force behind his thrusts, means he can make the man stagger under the force of his coupling.

" _Mine_ ," he insists. "You are mine. My precious, broken little star. I will care for you. I will own you. And I will keep you safe, and hurting. Surrender, surrender all to me. **I will take care of you.** "

Poe howls with agonised bliss as the other man pushes into him, the whole world going white and then black in a rush of internal novae. He drops his head forward onto his forearms, pressing in so hard that _that_ hurts too, but it's so minor in comparison that he's barely aware of it.

And, though it seems so strange in the face of such force, such fire, such intensity, the whole world is going slow, like he's watching it from behind frosted glass. Or… no, from underwater, everything slightly ethereal and graceful, wrapped in unending, comforting pressure, slow and ceaseless, pushing him deeper.

" _Yes_ ," he gasps again, in agreement and in gratitude. His voice is going distant too, the different hints of emotion beginning to blend into each other, as they all slowly, inexorably, become something that is one and the same, without ceasing to be what they are alone.

Appropriate, really.

"I'm yours." Slow, heartfelt. Certain. "I'm yours. I'll do anything. I surrender."

Kylo knows he's won. Knows he owns him, now. Knows this beautiful, fierce, brave, loyal, caring thing is his. His own, all for him and him alone. He's not sure how he's managed it, not sure why someone as good and noble and true as Poe Dameron would allow someone as broken as he is to own him, but he's certain he's going to do whatever he can to be worthy of him.

Just because he's ruled by emotions, it doesn't mean the emotions have to be **dark**. A fierce wave of gratitude and protectiveness surge through Kylo, and had he access to the Force right now, he's sure he could destroy Snoke in a single blow. He's sure, too, that… that he can do this. That he can use this. That he can be stronger because of Poe, not weakened by affection the way the Supreme Leader claims he is around his family. No. Definitely not. A purpose kindles somewhere, a little blazing light of hope that – for once – he doesn't shy away from.

Not when Poe doesn't seem to _mind_ the raging maelstrom of **angry need** , the emotions he was never supposed to feel. Not when he – instead – relishes them and offers his complete and utter surrender to him.

An arm goes around Poe's throat, the elbow bent across his jugular, and he tugs the man's head back, constricting airflow again. He's so beautiful when he's suffering, so strong and fierce and alive. He can't help but stare and drink in every last detail as he rides his ass with all his considerable height and strength. The man just takes it, takes every last, rage-and-passion fuelled slam as a gift, and Kylo wonders how hard he can take him before he finds his release. But wasn't there a place inside him? A place before, that made his toes curl and his throat howl? He shifts his posture just slightly, their rutting changing so he can strike each thrust to slam into that spot, to white out the man's mind in bliss.

It works. Even with an arm across his throat, bent into a position that seems to be beyond the realms of possibility, Poe still screams out in ecstasy, the sensation like a shock of lightning deep inside him, and one that does not stop. He screams until there's no voice left in him, until there's not a flicker of resistance (instinctive, not deliberate) left in him. In any of him.

This… is everything. It is. It has to be. This is the pure, single-minded focus he's needed for as long as he can remember, this sense of being the whole of another person's world. The whole of _Kylo's_ world. At the mercy of it, caught in it, lost in it, and yet defined by it.

Not at the periphery. The be-all and end-all.

It's getting harder and harder to speak, partly due to the lack of air, but rather more so due to the lack of _words_. They just _go_ , fading on his lips before he can find voice for them, leaving him surging on emotion alone, adrift on the maelstrom that is the other man's will.

But… he's so close now. So very, very, damnably close. And he doesn't know if…

"… _Please_ ," he manages. "I… I need…"

"Yes," Kylo tells him, voice rough and soft at the same time. "Come for me. Come apart for me. Give in to the pleasure, allow yourself to simply **be**." He knows what the pilot is asking for, knows he's won by how he needs permission even to climax. And that… that feels so perfect. He's his own, and Kylo **promises** inside of himself to never betray that, to never let Poe regret his offering of himself.

His arm tightens, fingers of the other hand going into Poe's hair, riding the position for as long as it takes to make the man tense and explode. He crests the wave of it, still holding back his own pleasure until he is certain Poe's is wrung out from him. No hand touches his lover's cock, but it spurts obediently all the same. He keeps moving – moving, moving – until long after Poe's done, and then he lets go of his throat and turns his head more gently to one side. His own movements start to go more ragged, but still controlled, as he speaks against his lips. "And I am **yours** ," he promises, as his own climax hits. He presses flush against him, cock spasming deep inside and marking out the promise in come as much as word and feeling. He holds them like that, a kiss following his words, until Poe's body starts to tremble below him, and he carefully slides them both down, covering him in a giant blanket of almost-Sith.

When it's all over, when the vibrant sparks inside and out have faded, Poe just lies where he is, arms having given way at some point that he isn't even fully aware of. He lies in the soft grass, aware of the tick of the universe somewhere in the background, the thrum of reality and normalcy and how things are, but all of it is so far away. Everything is so very, very far away, save for the man still on top of him, inside of him, breathing against his skin, raw and real and bright and terrifying and so wonderful that Poe still can't separate the individual strands of emotion and thought. It all just _is_.

He tries to murmur his thanks, his appreciation, but the words are still too distant and all he manages is an incoherent little sound. There's a lot in his tone, though. A _lot_.

He doesn't move. Doesn't want to move, lest he breaks the moment and allows the world to rush back in. That will have to come later, but right now… right now he just wants to coast this feeling for as long as possible. Like riding the wake of a storm, but never quite letting it catch up.

Kylo's never had to deal with someone in this state before, but he's always been sensitive to others' emotions and needs; it's why he can read them so well. He pulls Poe's hands closer to his head, and places his own over the top, gently stroking with his thumbs. His lover is in another place right now, and he wants to let him stay there as long as possible.

He makes sure his weight is not oppressive, just a comforting pressure, and kisses softly at Poe's ear, the back of his neck, murmuring soft noises of encouragement and caring that mean more in tone than the words that he could try to use. They lie like that for a long while, until Kylo thinks the night time might get a little too cold and dark for him to keep at bay with his own heat. "Just relax," he whispers, and carefully pulls out from inside of the other man. He scoops the naked, sated pilot to his chest and cradles him close for the brief walk back to the pod.

BB-8 chirrups in somewhat dubious tones, and Kylo shakes his head. "He is fine. Please fetch me blankets. I will hold him until he comes around."

The droid's optical sensor zooms in, then out, and it trundles off to find what's requested. Its tiny clasping claw comes out, and by the time the astromech bumbles over to them it's become twisted up a lot with the rolling, but it lets go of the blanket all the same. Kylo takes it with a lowly rumbled thanks, lying half propped-up inside the pod against the pillow of a supply bag. He has Poe almost sitting in his lap, legs tangled together and head on his chest. Between them, they get the blanket up and tucked around him.

The movement ought to be unwelcome, but right now in Poe's mind very little is unwelcome, and the warm arms around him – so surprisingly tender – keep him lulled under, maintaining the very lovely sense of drifting. He's touched on sensation like this before but never to such an extent, and he adores the way it feels. Adores… and craves, and he knows on some more coherent level that he's going to want this again, and again, and again. And not just because it's another thrill he can chase, oh no. This… is something deeper.

He curls in tighter once Kylo finally settles them both in the pod. It's strange being in here again, remembering – still distantly – how things were just a few hours ago. How he kept trying to force the other man's hand. At the time, he'd been so sure it was a simple act of defiance, a Resistance pilot standing up to his First Order captor – and that _was_ part of it – but the whole truth of it all is rather more complicated.

And, at the same time, infinitely simpler.

Poe keeps his head on Kylo's chest, aware of the rhythmic beat of the other man's heart, the warmth of his skin. He murmurs something else, the words still all gone, but his tone gives away the meaning.

Gratitude. Contentment. Hope.

"It's all right," Kylo tells him. "You can rest, now, Poe. You can rest. I'll keep you safe. I'll keep watch."

If nothing else, Kylo understands the martyr-complex Poe clearly struggles with. The willingness to take on danger, to be the one in the cross-hairs. He knows how at least part of that is a desire to protect others, he saw as much in his head. It's not as simple as that – not as black-and-white – and he's sure more than a little of it is a tiny voice inside of him that always wanted to be taken care of himself. He kisses his temple, strokes him as softly as he can to keep him in that other-place for as long as possible, to draw out the pleasant, peaceful sensations.

Peace. Even after so much passion. He wonders if that was part of the lesson, or if exhaustion is making his own head go fuzzy. Still, he won't sleep, not until Poe is out for the night. And even then, not for a while after. The droid might be a willing sentry, but Kylo has made a promise to protect his lover, and he plans on keeping it with every fibre of his being.

"Sleep now, my brave pilot. You can sleep. It's okay. The danger is passed. Shhh…"

Without external impetus to wake, to regain coherence, to become alert, Poe just sinks slowly deeper and deeper. He is, after all, exhausted, having not slept since those scant few hours on Jakku, after the TIE fighter crash, and that was the kind of sleep that doesn't really satisfy. Physical stillness but not true rest.

This, however, is something very different, and it rises up to claim him, to cover him, pulling him down into the deeper blackness until, without even noticing it's been happening, he drifts quietly off to sleep.


	7. Questions & Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Both of us thank you from the bottom of our hearts for all your comments. They mean a heck of a lot!
> 
> And now... have another chapter, in which there is more talking and then more smut. We promise that the plot is about to kick back in after this. *nods* Though we suspect you won't mind where this one goes, either... ;-)

The nights – like the days – are long on this planet, which is a godsend in some respects. It's difficult to adjust to something like that from a world of artificial day-night cycles and light and dark on request, so Kylo wakes when he's had enough rest, which is around the time the sun peeks over the horizon.

Poe is still sleeping. He's not surprised: the man must be utterly exhausted. They're still curled up together under that broad emergency blanket, the Ren Lord acting as pillow and mattress in one to the shorter man snuggling under his chin. Poe's breathing is hypnotically slow, and Kylo takes the time to think. Really think.

He can feel the press of muscle, skin and bone against him, and it's been so long since he felt so much, so close… it's almost hard to work out where he ends, and where Poe begins. Poe, who feels so at home in his own skin, and Kylo, who feels so alienated in his.

With morning comes a little distance, and a chance to simply… let his mind tumble. He remembers the promises he made last night, in the heat of the moment. Remembers the surety behind his words, the sense of glorious, unstoppable purpose. He made decisions so quickly back then, without stopping to think about the ramifications. Now… now he allows himself that luxury.

For one: he needs to decide what it is he _actually_ wants. He knows that Poe is in that list (pretty damn high up), and he knows he won't go back to the Jedi, that he **can't** in all conscience ever follow their teachings. That was why he left, after all. A fundamental difference of opinion, of temperament. He also knows he wants to end the Starkiller project, for it's never felt right with him inside. He'd thought that weakness to be a simple seduction of the Light, but… no. It's more than that. It's a bridge too far, a step that isn't worth anything you reach after it. Without the fear of Snoke intruding on his thoughts, without that fog of wretched Darkness that surrounds him, he can tell that his inner revulsion is just that: his own code will not condone such an atrocity.

Other things are more complex. After Starkiller, after Snoke… he's not so sure what place there is in the galaxy for him. He's not sure what place he even **wants** , not yet, but maybe he'll work it out in time. Or maybe it will be thrown into his face, and he'll have no choice but to accept.

He'd hated the Starkiller before he met Poe. Perhaps the man catalysed him into action on his deeper conviction, but he's sure it isn't simply an attempt to win him over. It's a mutually appealing goal.

Then there's Poe himself. Poe, who is as dyed in the wool Resistance as Kylo is… Dark. Not 'First Order', just… not-Jedi. He isn't a Sith, he knows, because the Supreme Leader doesn't claim that title for himself. He's not sure why, not sure what the difference between Dark and Sith is, but there seems to be some disconnect, as well as overlap. He's still mulling over the terminology when he feels the stirrings against his chest, and he peers down at the bleary-eyed pilot, surfacing into consciousness.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks, calmly.

Poe is used to sudden, sharp awakenings – alarms, dangers, attacks. Running to his X-Wing in the middle of the night, no time to stop and think, lost in necessary action – so it's always good when he can wake more slowly. When he can let reality drift back in, little by little, taking his time with it.

It's even better to wake up still held in those warm, strong arms, and he takes a moment to enjoy it before he blinks his eyes open, looking up at the man still holding him, the world a distant, lovely haze that seems to bend around them both, like light at the edges of a black hole.

"Yeah…" he murmurs, voice a little rough. Not really a surprise, given all that screaming he's been doing of late. And… "...By the Force, I think you broke me…"

He doesn't sound unhappy about it, though. On the contrary, the delight is positively radiating off him.

"Then I will put you back together again," Kylo replies, with a very, very slight smile. "In all the right ways." He was hopeful that Poe would wake as content as he fell asleep, and he's pleased to see his hope was founded. Under the blanket, he draws idle sigils with his fingers: possessive marks that leave invisible trails joining finger to skin after they lift.

"I was not too harsh, was I?" He can't feel any excessive discomfort, can't sense it with his normal, Human empathy, but he still wants to make sure. After all, it's a steep learning curve. _I was as careful as I could be._

"Not at all," Poe tells him, with a very self-aware little smile. "Just harsh enough, in fact. Apparently I like that more than I realised…"

He isn't under anymore, per se, but he's still sleepy enough and content enough that most of his filters are down, and the honesty just spills through. His smile brightens, tone taking on a slightly wicked edge that doesn't even begin to cover the very genuine question underneath. "I hope I was sufficient for your needs…"

Teeth grab for his earlobe, then, a playful (still a bit shy) little tug and then – eyes closed – Kylo presses his nose into the side of Poe's face. "You are well worth the wait, Poe Dameron. Worth every. Single. Decade." Each word punctuated by the growl under his tone, a promise of more lingering in the punctuation. He doesn't know why Poe even has to ask. He's as stunningly attractive as the galaxy is capable of birthing, he's so bright, vital and alive… then wicked and sinful and delicious and the most glorious person to ever suffer or moan. Kylo is drunk on him, and he doesn't ever want to sober up.

 _I mean it_ , are the unspoken words in that gesture. _I mean everything I said last night_. "We left our clothes very far away. I'm afraid I was a little caught up in you."

There's relief in Poe's eyes at that, in the confirmation that he is – somehow – enough to keep the other man's attention. It certainly seemed that way last night, but there's been a lingering sense of worry that he couldn't compete with the expectations of a man like Kylo Ren. A powerful Force-user – even if he's cut off from it right now – and a key figure in the First Order. The world he walks is a different one, meant for only a very few on either side, and it's hard for Poe to imagine being able to live up to that.

But, if he has, then… well. He can take a little pride in it.

And does.

"We did do that, yes," he replies, with a soft laugh. "I guess that means you get to watch me walking around naked for a little bit longer. You seemed to like that."

"I will never object to witnessing your physical beauty," is the almost-smooth reply. Almost. Still a little rough around the edges. "Though it may distract me from escaping this accursed place, and if we're ever going to save whole planets from being destroyed, we must retain _some_ focus."

Some. Doesn't mean they can't have a **little** distraction from time to time? Right? He tangles his fingers in Poe's hair and pulls him up for a slow, lazy morning kiss. Just to reassure himself that the connection still burns as brightly as it did the night before. He's no expert at kissing, and it's a little clumsy as well as fierce, but it's his technique and he's sticking to it for the time being.

"We should wash. Dress. Eat. Plan our day. The doorway that was open yesterday has now closed, though the oasis is still open to us – for now."

Poe leans into the kiss – and the fingers in his hair – murmuring in appreciation. When the kiss breaks, and Kylo speaks, he nods. "We need to work out what we do next. Explore this place further. That path we took yesterday seemed so… deliberate."

He doesn't seem in a hurry to move, though.

"Indeed. It was a test of some form, of that I am sure." Kylo hasn't let go of Poe's hair, doesn't need to, yet. "Which I suspect the Rancor was punishment for my initial failure, but the food and water may have been reward for its slaughter."

He's not sure, but that sounds like it could be right.

"Maybe there will be more tests," Poe muses, a mixture of apprehensive and excited about the prospect. "We might be able to work out what this place is really meant to be, and how to get away from it before…"

A pause. The sudden shift in emotion visible in his eyes. "I need to ask you something. What happens if the First Order comes back for us? Comes back for you? What… what happens to me?"

Kylo's mind had already been whirling in the direction of new tests when that… when Poe asks _that_ , and the sudden brick wall that stops his mind is all but visible in the way everything suddenly goes **empty**. Numb.

He clearly thinks that through, his throat working around air, swallowing it down in his deliberation. "I must retain my cover. That… is vital. If we are to destroy the base, and Snoke." He waits for agreement on this front, because what he says next will sound… unpleasant and he needs the other man to follow through this logic with him.

"I know," Poe tells him, softly. "I know."

He does know. In truth, he has a pretty good idea of the whole answer, but on some level he needs to hear it said. He feels a little stab of guilt at having brought it up – and at the obvious effect it has on Kylo – but… they need to deal with it. So they both know they can.

"We will act as though you are fully under my control, that I have subsumed your will in my own. Then you will not require restraint, or interference. You will need to be contained in holding cells, but you will not be harmed. At the earliest convenience, I will arrange for you to escape with your droid, without implicating myself. And then you will return to the Resistance to organise the strike on the Starkiller base."

It glosses over some of how he'll need to act around the troopers, but he knows Poe will read between the lines enough for that. "I may indeed need to control you for the ruse to be effective, at least to begin with."

Poe nods, taking this in, eyes a little heavy-lidded with a very guilty sense of pleasure, despite it all. He should not be enjoying a single element of this part. He should _not_. It is extraordinarily dangerous – for both of them – and it involves things going back to, more or less, how they were before.

The odd thing is, for the moment, he doesn't even consider the last part. Doesn't think about what it will be like to go back to the Resistance, to the base in the Ileenium System, on D'Qar, with news of the Starkiller. With BB-8, and therefore the map. Victorious. A harbinger of terrible things, but victorious nonetheless. The one whom General Organa trusted, proving his worth again.

He will think about it later. He won't be able to stop himself. But right now… it's the rest he dwells on. Even though he shouldn't.

"That should work," he concurs. "It protects your cover, and gets me out, and… yes. It should work."

"I will need to remain in the Supreme Leader's grace for as long as possible. It is… difficult to gain an audience with him. I am fortunate that the blocking on this planet will shield my intentions from him, but as we are released from its grasp…" Kylo's hand stills.

"I will need to act as though we are the enemies the world thinks we are. I will need to… to **believe** it enough to convince him. Only then will I enter his presence, and end him." It is going to be difficult, very difficult. Kylo isn't wholly sure he has the strength to pull it off, but he knows it is their only chance.

"I will… be forced to do things which you find abhorrent."

"I know," Poe replies. "But for the target in our sights… it will be necessary."

He pushes in closer again. Needing to find confidence and reassurance for both of them. "We can make this work. We _will_."

Kylo bites his lip for a moment, then his fingers start to caress again, soft but reassuring in any way he can offer. "What… what makes you so sure of me? You know… you know who I am. You must know what I do. Not to such as you, but…" to others. Countless thronging masses ended, their life cut off from the Force.

Poe meets his eyes. "I trust my instincts," he answers. "I may not have the Force, but I still live and die by what I feel deep down. What I know to be true, even when I can't explain it."

It may not be the best answer in the galaxy, but it's the honest one.

"And when the world knows what you have done… with me?" Kylo swallows, his eyes… bright. "What, then?"

There are many who want Kylo Ren dead. Many. He doubts Poe will get any congratulations for his choice in bedmate, and in fact… likely face quite serious ostracism. And he would not blame people for it, either.

"It will cause difficulties," Poe concedes. Accepts. "I know that. And I know the battle to convince people I haven't lost my mind – or had it manipulated – will be a challenging one. People I care about, people I respect… they will doubt me. So I'll just have to prove them wrong."

"I see." He mulls the knowledge over for a moment, tries it out inside. He knows his mother still holds out hope for him, hope he thought long-misguided. He is quiet – he often has been. Prone to deep introspection, and occasional violent outbursts. Kylo was like this, even when he was Ben.

"Perhaps, when you bring down the First Order's greatest weapon, they will see that you were right all along."

Poe nods. "Exactly. And when you take down Snoke. Until then… all that matters is that they believe my intel. And that they don't lock me up on the grounds of having lost my mind. But they won't. General Organa will trust me."

Of this part, he is sure. If he turns up and tells Leia Organa that her wayward son is in the process of doing the right thing… she will support him. She will support them both.

There is a very, very long pause. Very long. Kylo is clearly fighting himself incredibly hard, when he eventually asks: "Is… she… well?"

"Yes," comes the soft answer. "She is well. Still the brilliant leader she always has been." A pause. Not sure if he dares. Not sure if he has the right to say the rest. "She misses you."

"She misses who I once was," Kylo corrects him, though there's no venom in his tone. "Not who I am now."

"She regrets the path you took. She regrets that you felt you had no other alternative. But it doesn't stop her loving you."

Poe drops his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. Shouldn't have presumed. But… she is my general, and she is the one I will have to convince. And that is how I know I can."

"It is… it is difficult to explain. To… to someone who has never been asked to do what I did," Kylo admits, the words clearly painful to say. "I… am not a Jedi. You… must know that… you must agree that it is not… _congruent_ with my personality. I have done a great many things I might… do differently. With the benefit of hindsight. But I will never be the person they thought I was. And…"

That's really the crux of the matter, he thinks. "You may speak freely with me. I cannot promise I will take your words calmly. I am… not a calm individual." His smile at that is self-knowing and wry. "I will try not to break anything in the process. Anything… important." Like limbs. Furniture, trees, masonry are all fair game if they aren't load-bearing.

This gets him a smile in return. "You may not be the person they thought you were, but you can show them you're also not the person they're scared you are. That you're… something else. Something in the middle."

What do you even get when you combine Light and Dark? Shadows? Grey?

"Something in the middle would not have done many of the things I did." Death upon death upon death. But the regret is there, the pain – the anguish he clearly felt in the moment, the horror of trying to out-Vader Vader, to murder something inside of him with increasingly cruel actions.

Kylo feels sick. Sick to his stomach. Even without the Force, he can feel it. Remember the sensations, and how he'd tried oh-so-hard to enjoy them, to tell himself it was needful. That it was **necessary**.

_What have I done?_

The prospect of facing up to it, of – of admitting – of… Fine tremors run through him, emotion welled up and banked and put aside, the feelings that would burst out normally when his composure cracks…

His hands go tighter on Poe, clutch him fiercely, and his eyes are _haunted_. "You do not understand… I _am_ what I fear."

And when those hands tighten on him, Poe realises he's mis-spoken. Or pushed too far. His intentions were good – they usually are – but the result…

There's more to it, though. It also pushes home just how much Poe can't relate to what the other man has done. Can't quite put himself into that mindset. Not just because he isn't capable of the same, but because he _isn't capable_ of the same. He's not a Jedi. Not a Sith. Not whatever you are when you're neither but still have the Force.

But he does know people. So he'll have to rely on that, and try not to dwell on the rest.

"Then become something else," he whispers, holding tighter to Kylo as well. "Never mind proving it to other people. Prove it to yourself."

Kylo pushes Poe off him, then, and bolts. He doesn't care how nude he is, or if the droid sees, or anything. The urge to be **elsewhere** is too strong. It's absolutely ridiculous, because he's stark-bollock naked and barefoot in a hell-trap Jedi pit surrounded by the statues of long-dead voices who likely think he's the worst kind of scum to exist.

He just has to. He has to run. He has to – and he has nowhere to go – and…

_Run like you did the last time something was hard, run from your Master, your role, your home, your name, your **family**. Run, run and go as far from them as you can. Throw yourself into the arms of someone stronger, hitch your fate to someone else's star. **Destroy Ben Organa-Solo**. Pretend he never existed. Pretend he never was YOU. Throw yourself into madness upon madness and--_

There is nowhere left to run. His eyes are streaming, his whole body shaking with the violent sobs he's trying to keep in check. His robes are puddled near his feet, his lightsabre hilt beside them.

Who is he?

The trappings of Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren. As easily stripped as his old clothes, as easily torn from him as a name, a person. More masks, and without them… he sinks to his knees and then onto his hands, staring back at the reflection that gazes up at him.

He recognises the face, but he doesn't. He never needed to do any of this, or did he? Is he fundamentally so flawed that he can't tell wrong from right? Is there nothing you can do but be one or the other? Is he even _capable_ of being what Poe thinks he can? He grasps the edge of the soil, bends over and pushes his head underwater. His eyes sting with the shock of it, the world murky and swirling, the intrusion making the water as tumultuous as the currents inside of himself. He holds his own breath, knowing he can take it, hoping it will help, desperate for an answer he'd begged a long-dead fallen ancestor to provide…

...and all he gets is the feeling of cold water over his face, the ground beneath his knees, and… a hand on his shoulder.

Which would be Poe, of course, having chased him all the way from the pod – shouting something to the obviously alarmed BB-8 about staying clear for the time being – and finally yanking the other man up out of the water.

He doesn't know what to say – given that what he's _been_ saying apparently doesn't work in this situation – and that scares him, because knowing what to say is roughly one half of what he's good at. So, instead, he wraps tightly around the other man from behind, holding on as firmly as he dares, and trying not to let the panic register in his own voice when he speaks.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be all right, Kylo. It's going to be all right. Just take a breath."

The world is tunnelling down, darkness, even with the hands and voice. Door after door closing, the path becoming narrower, the world becoming dead and barren. Kylo's trapped, trapped in a room with only himself, and he **hates** himself. Muddy hands go up to cover his face, smearing brown muck over his cheeks, and he… he just cries.

Cries in grief. Cries because he knows… he knows. He killed for no reason, for no reason other than spite and fear. It wasn't noble, it wasn't even because he wanted to, or because he needed to. He did it to try to murder himself inside, and he… he knows. He **knows**.

He cries until he can't wring a single drop more out of himself… until he's just a shaking, worn-out body. He's sorry. He's so fucking sorry. It won't bring back anyone he's killed, it won't undo any pain he's caused, but he's sorry all the same. He turns – avoiding Poe's eyes – and slides his muddy hands around him, head going onto his shoulder, burying himself in the other man.

"I did it," he says, voice grief-wracked and pained. "I did it. Everything they say I did, and more. I did it, and I-- I didn't even--" Enjoy it. It was wrong. He did those things for the wrong reason, thinking they'd give him power. Thinking they were tools, steps, ways to forge ahead. They were not, and he knows, now. He knew all along.

His hands grip shakily, his body exhausted and wrung empty.

"Help me." Help me. He won't look Poe in the eye, but he begs all the same. Begs for compassion, for strength, for… for… forgiveness. He doesn't want to be the person he's become, but he can't deny he became him, either.

This is not what Poe expected. Some remorse, yes, that wouldn't be a surprise. Maybe more, little by little, as the other man walks the new path he's set for himself. But this much, and this intensity…

But at the same time, it makes complete sense.

This week is getting stranger and stranger. How are you supposed to deal with an armful of tall, slightly muddy, guilt-stricken proto-Sith?

The same way you deal with anyone in pain. By being there. By letting them work through it. And – if you care for them enough – by holding them tight.

"I _will_ help you. I am. I promise. Kylo… listen to me. You can't change the past, but you _can_ change what is to come. You can change the path you're on. You _are_ changing the path you're on. And if you weren't, if I didn't believe you were capable of it, I wouldn't be here. But I _am_ here, and I'm not going anywhere, and if you believe nothing else, believe that."

A pause. A breath. Don't lose it now. "Last night you kept telling me that you'd take care of me. And I believed you when you said it. I still believe it now. But it works both ways. Let me take care of you, too."

Messy fingers still clutching tight, Kylo nods. He nods, and… his breathing wracked and ruined… "It is hard," he pushes out, with difficulty. "It is hard… to let go of control." Not for Poe, perhaps, but for Kylo it is. To allow someone else to care, to allow someone else to help.

Son of two Generals – one a princess, one a rogue – nephew of the sole remaining Jedi Master, grandson of Darth Vader. He was never supposed to need _help_ , or so he's sure, anyway. He's clearly traumatised by all he's been through, all he's done, and in the wake of it, he's a raw, open wound. He grabs hold of Poe's face, blinking through the messy, salty tears, and pulls him to his lips. He needs the contact, the reassurance, the comfort. It's not even about desire, it's a terrifying need to connect, to… feel.

Open, open for him to see. A broken not-Jedi, a murderer, a traitor, a liar and a monster. He knows he had to show him, had to allow the man to see what he was. It just so happens you can't show without seeing for yourself. Not truly.

"I'm not asking you to let go of control," Poe whispers, in between gentle, careful kisses. "I'm just asking you to share it."

Right now, though, he knows the other man needs more. More to reassure him. More to show him that it's OK. Or… no, _will be_ OK. With a flash of daring, he carefully pushes Kylo down onto his back, settling more comfortably on top of him, hand on the side of his face.

Part of Kylo flares out inside in panic, but that panic – that would normally lead to a beam of red light and a crackle of destruction – manages to stave itself into only a nervous flinch. He doesn't resist, other than that, and he peers up in open confusion and terror.

Is this supposed to help? He pushes into the hand, seeking more of the touch, almost wanting to push his face right into it so he can hide.

Poe curls in closer when he's confident he isn't about to get kicked off, or worse. He rests his forehead against Kylo's, watching his eyes. Refusing to look away, even though he's scared, too.

"I know this isn't easy," he says. Which is an understatement – a massive one – but he just rolls with it for now. "But I also know you can do it. I know you're capable of it, and I know you want it. And I know all of that because I would never have let you touch me if I didn't see some sign of good in you, even hidden under all those facades you put up. I would never have risked surrendering to you so completely if I believed you just wanted things to go back to the way they were. I told you… I trust my instincts. I did before and I still do."

"I could have been lying." Pause. "I still could. Or…" And this, to Kylo, is the more pressing worry: "I could be telling the truth, and be too weak to be who I want to be. I have fallen once. What is to say I won't over and over?"

His own eyes track rapidly back and forth, his hands finding Poe's, holding on very, very gently. "I may not have the choice. The call of the Dark Side is strong. And if the Supreme Leader realises I have been seduced away from his control…" There's a hollow terror on his face at that thought. Snoke is strong. He knows. Oh, he knows. "What if I… what if I fall over and over?"

He can think of nothing worse. To live that half-life, to burn in constant agony. "You… promise me. Promise me you will kill me, if it comes to it. If… if it comes to it. I would rather die."

"I promise." Maybe Poe says it too fast. But… he is a man who takes his life – and the lives of his closest allies – into his own hands on a regular basis. A man who knows there are things worse than death. Sometimes… you have to make the impossible choices.

More of the time, you find a third option at the last minute. He is good at this in particular, and that's why he can make the promise so easily. Because it will only 'come to it' if there is absolutely no other way.

"The call of the Light Side is strong too, you know," he adds. Not speaking from experience, of course, but from what he's seen, and learned. "So strong that… even Darth Vader heard it, in the end."

Brace for impact. Just in case.

Kylo turns his head, then, eyes shut. His hands go white-knuckled with how hard they grip Poe's, and this… this is the rage. The rage, terror and fury. The emotional rollercoaster he's constantly riding, the one that – more often than not – has wound up with machinery destroyed, people dead… or both.

_I know it's strong, I've lived with it calling out to me all these years, why in the stars do you think I'm such a mess?_

One thing he does not say.

_How dare you bring up my grandfather's name. He was a Sith Lord, and he-- he--_

His nostrils flare violently around the air as he tries very, **very** hard to weather the storm. Voices from both side – Dark, Light – yowl like cats in heat for his attention, and he tries to find it. Not peace, not rage, but… something. **Control**. Not denying the emotion, but not letting it take over, either.

Poe is right, after all. Darth Vader did turn back to the Light in the end. Kylo's struggled with that for a long time, trying to reconcile the Vader who loved Padme with the Vader who ruled the galaxy with the Vader who loved Luke.

Focus. **Focus**. When he finally opens his eyes again, the tension in his jawline is gone and his vision is purposed again. Less conflicted, more sure. The Vader who loved Padme is the same Vader who loved Luke. The Kylo who loved – the Ben who _loved_ his family, and the Kylo who **loves** his family are the same, and not.

"I do not think it was 'Light' that saved him. Not… not in the way the Jedi enshrine their Light," Kylo says, his tone… strangely less worn, now. "I think it was love. And if it was Light, it wasn't the Light of a Jedi." No Jedi would throw the Empire to the ground for the sake of a child they were never supposed to have. A Sith, however… a Sith could well do it, and still love. Perhaps a Sith could do the right thing, if it was what they wanted to do.

His hands relax slightly, the fight and turmoil fading. He can… he can do it. He _can_ finish what his grandfather started.

"Balance," he says. "He was meant to bring balance. But Luke ignored the lesson he was there to teach." Kylo blinks in surprise at the thought, the way it suddenly snaps into place like it was there all along. And then he grabs Poe's face and pulls him in to kiss the living daylights out of him.

Which, aside from being very pleasurable, is also a great relief. Poe kisses the other man back as hard as he dares, breaking only when oxygen becomes essential, and then – why not? – he takes hold of Kylo and flips them both sideways so he himself is now on his back with Kylo on top of him. Partly because he likes that feeling of being pinned down, but mostly as a sign of his surrender. A sign that he trusts the other man enough to do this without fearing the consequences.

Without fearing? Full-on _wanting_. By the Maker, he's in deep.

"Even… now?" Kylo asks, and the question is a loaded one. Even now, when you know the mess that I am, when you know the shame, the bloodshed, the sin and the cruelty? He drops his elbows into the mud, hands cradling Poe's face, peering down at him.

"You are… sure?" I haven't disgusted you? I haven't terrified you? I haven't made you wish you'd never dropped to your knees? You won't run the minute I open the hangar bay, run and never come back? His eyes track over Poe's, the fear there. He's not sure he'll master that fear any time soon. And maybe Poe will grow tired of an insecure mass-murderer? (If one somewhat hellbent on redemption.)

"I'm sure," Poe answers, and he sounds it. "If I didn't want this… I wouldn't still be here. And if… if you still need proof of that, then ask me. The next time this insane place gives you back the Force. Ask me. Let me tell you. _Make_ me tell you. Whatever you need."

There's a waver in his voice at that, half fear and half arousal. He does not have good memories of the other man questioning him with the aid of the Force, but – at the same time – there's a filter over it all, now. The hue of it has changed, and he can't quite get it to go back the way it was.

But it doesn't matter. He doesn't need to. And he means what he's saying. And however he has to prove that… he will.

"When I let you go," Kylo says, a little mournfully at the thought, "...we'll see if you ever come back for me." That will be the only way he'll be certain. Even if he slides deep into his mind… it will be when they part that he finds out who Poe Dameron really is. When Kylo's usefulness is at an end, when those around him assert the moral right in his eyes…

"But until then, I'll have to convince you why you should." His hands are messy, mucky, and they ruin Poe's sleep-mussed hair. Even with silt smeared through the curls, he still looks like a sculpture, like an artist's impression of a man. Kylo wonders what it is about him, but he thinks it's in part that damn smile. He just looks so happy, so… right. No. Something. He's not sure _what_ , just that he needs to drop his head to brush his own lips over Poe's to drink some of the happiness in.

This kiss is a little slower, a little softer. Not because there's less fire, but because he wants to show him it's not just about sharp teeth and fast hands. His nose bumps against Poe's cheek as he cautiously slides a tongue against the plump, welcoming lips and dips it in to taste.

Hellfire can come in a minute. You can always build up to it, right?

Poe parts his lips to let the other man in, making a soft sound (of approval? Of _happiness_?) as Kylo kisses him, arms reaching up to hold on tighter. They're both still naked, which means that wrapping his legs around the other man's waist is _very_ nice, even if he's not trying to take things any further right now.

Sometimes… closeness is just closeness. Closeness and kissing. He wonders, on some level, if he's being lulled into a false sense of security by the sudden gentleness but – honestly – he doesn't mind either way. Surprise force would be good. Soft kissing is good too.

"You already did," he whispers, in between. "Although… feel at liberty to keep convincing me for as long as you want."

"We will never make it off this planet if I convince you for as long as I want," Kylo points out, and then bites at his mouth, just playfully. And it's true, because he has a lot of repressed longing to make up for, and a very, very nice way to make up for it. A wonderful way. A brilliant plan.

It will use up most of their supplies of anything vaguely suitable for internal use, but damn will it be a nice way to run out of them.

He trails kisses from Poe's lips to the space below his ear, a scrape of teeth and a little (okay, maybe a lot) of heavy sucking there, his lips forming a seal and his tongue teasing over taut skin… and he breaks off with a wet popping sound.

"Unless we learn to multi-task. Do you think we could manage that?" Whilst waiting for an answer, his focus slips to the arch of a collarbone. His teeth sink in harder, tongue dancing a fast, rough line between them.

"I think we're… _oh_... really bad at multi-tasking," Poe gasps, because _damn_ he likes that, and it is going to make thinking difficult. Or just unnecessary. Maybe unnecessary.

And he really _should_ be pointing out that they need to explore more. Need to understand this place and what it means. He should not be holding on tighter still, hands sliding up to lace through Kylo's hair, moaning in delight.

Not at all. But he is.

"Then maybe you should tell me how you piloted a TIE-fighter with such ease. Did you have one for training in? Or do you know your way so well around a stick that you could do it in your sleep?"

Kylo allows the fingers in his hair, lets his mouth wander down to Poe's chest. They've fucked twice, but he's barely managed to explore the other man's body, not really. Kylo thinks it is a very nice body, and he would like to be better acquainted with it. He nips his way over his torso, and when his nose brushes against a nipple and it gets a hiss, he decides to pay some more attention there. His lips tease it just gently to begin with, then his tongue comes out in an experimental flick. Again. The response urges him on, and he nips it over and over with his teeth, pulling it into his mouth and starting to _suck_.

"I'd never been in one before. I'm just really, _really_ good at flying things, and I find… _yesyesyes, like that, like that_..!"

Which would be the point where Kylo starts nipping and sucking at that nipple, making Poe's mind immediately go sky-high, so much so that he bucks more than a little under the other man, all thoughts of anything else immediately pushed aside.

Hands shove him back down, and Kylo stops. "You were explaining things," he chides. And yes, there's the devil in him. He clearly wants to make this some form of a game. "Why don't you tell me the differences between flying one and your precious X-Wings?"

He doesn't resume his attentions until Poe starts to answer again.

Does talking about piloting count as talking dirty? Possibly it does for Poe Dameron. He pulls his focus back a little – which requires some effort – but the edge of insistence to the other man's tone is a very big help. Or something.

He takes a mental run-up. Determined. And, as he speaks, talking rather fast.

"Well, for starters, those TIEs you're using have a separate station for the gunner. In an X-Wing you do it all yourself. Which, yes, means you have to do two things at once, but it also means you can combine both – coordinate the flying and the targeting at the same time. Although… having a separate gunner is an interesting challenge. Makes you really work with the other person, even more so than you would with pilots in other ships."

Pause. Try to breathe. Don't scream even though the other man is doing _that_ with his tongue.

"...Also TIEs don't have hyperdrive and do you even _know_ how insane that is? I mean, what do you do if the fleet needs to make a sudden jump? Madness. You should probably… _yes, yes, yes, **please**_... probably… get someone to…"

Kylo rewards him for his answers with a long, slow swirl of tongue around that sensitive spot, then he slips two fingers around it to pull it prouder, tauter. And with that he can really work his tongue over it, lapping hard and pinching before he lets go with his fingers and sinks his teeth in around the areola, cheeks hollowing as he swallows hard enough to hurt. To hurt a lot.

He does it until Poe seems incoherent, and then lifts his head and trails feathery kisses to the other side, nosing gently first. "Get someone to what?" he asks, as he goes straight into sucking this one **hard**.

Incoherent, yes, but not quiet. The attempted coherence has dissolved into something that is anything but: moaning, gasping, pleading; for the most part just sounds interspersed with the occasional, emphatic 'yes' and 'please'.

The renewed question makes Poe's mind snap back a little, though not as sharply as before, and it's clear from the hazy look in his eyes that he is definitely not all there right now. "...Get someone to… to do something about that…" he says. "Before you end up leaving someone important behind when… when a battle doesn't go your way…"

He really hopes this is enough. He fears it might not be. Not because he doesn't like talking about all this – on the contrary, he does – but because it is really, really hard to do with _that_ level of stimulation keeping him distracted.

"You forget that the lack of a hyperdrive is most likely there to _prevent them from fleeing the First Order_ ," Kylo replies. It's a very real problem, after all. The Resistance might be volunteer based, but Hux's men are certainly not zealots, for the most part.

The tall man slinks down, his torso sliding over Poe's crotch as he moves to kiss over his flat stomach instead. Blunt fingernails drag four lines over each of his flanks, ending at his narrow hips. He ignores his groin for the moment, kissing and biting on the dips of his waist and the juncture of leg to hip.

"Keep talking," he says, as he pushes Poe's legs wider apart, as he kisses the inside of one thigh and sucks pinkening marks into his warm skin. He wants to leave little traces of himself all over the man, wants to mark his territory as claimed. "Now." He doesn't have to shout to make it an order, but he also doesn't specify what the subject has to be. For now.

Talk? Sure. OK. Poe can do that. Although, if _Kylo_ keeps doing _that_ , most of the talking is going to be shouted. And disjointed. And consist predominantly of begging. Although… maybe that's what the other man wants.

"Prevents _other_ people fleeing from the First Order from getting very far, too," he points out. After all, even if he hadn't been shot down over Jakku, he would still have needed to get another ship if he ever wanted to leave, and trading for one with a TIE fighter as collateral would have been difficult, even via the Jakku black market. "But I still prefer being in a ship with a hyperdrive. Makes me feel more in control."

Ironic, really.

"We would possibly not have caught you, so I vote against it." Because anything that could potentially prevent Kylo from burying his head between this man's legs and licking and sucking noisily is a sin beyond any forgiving. He bites harder, harder, until feet kick out a little… and then braces himself for the reaction when he licks him from root to tip. Just to see what it tastes like. Oh, and also to make him whine and writhe.

"I'd never have gotten away. You wanted me too badly."

The double-meaning in this statement is obvious, and very deliberate. It's the last vaguely sensible sentence that Poe manages, however, as Kylo promptly goes and does _that_ , and then Poe cries out in half-formed ecstasy, a mixture of need and gratitude.

"Please, please, don't stop, I'll do anything, please, please, please…"

"Anything?" Kylo asks, one hand brushing his hair back behind his ears. He peers up over his body, over his dusky, full cock, and smirks. "Are you saying that this interrogation technique is more effective than my usual methods?"

Whilst waiting for an answer he laps his tongue over the man's balls, finding the taste just a stronger musk of his inner thighs. It's pleasant, it's… well. It's pretty damn intoxicating, truth be told. "Would you give me your droid if I agreed to…" okay, just say it, "...suck your joystick?"

Not that he wants the droid, but he's already got Poe, and he doesn't really know what else he could ask for, right now. His tone is light enough, though… well. He never really drops all of the menace and threat. It's just part of who Kylo Ren is.

Poe lifts his head enough to meet the other man's eyes, along the length of his body. His own eyes are wide, suddenly, and dark with arousal. And… this is so very wrong. And so very right. And _so_ very _liberating_.

"I told you that you needed to re-think your technique," he reminds the other man, with as much strength behind the words as he can summon up at this point. "But… I can be extremely _resistant_ when I try. If you want something from me, Kylo Ren… you'll have to be _very_ persuasive."

"Hmm. The BB unit is more trouble than it is worth. I think I'll ask for your dogtags, instead." Because if he says 'the location of the Resistance base', he's pretty damn sure the facade will fail and it will revert back to _actual_ interrogation and not… whatever this is. "And you're going to give them to me."

Kylo closes his eyes and – thankful for a wide mouth – slips first one of Poe's balls, then the other, inside his mouth. He can't do much but wiggle his tongue sort of underneath them, and his fingers go for those two places high up on the insides of the other man's thighs where it's agony when you pinch down. Which he does.

Poe usually wears his dogtags around his neck – like he's supposed to – but since he first went to Jakku he's been carrying them in his pants pocket, to avoid anyone noticing them and realising that the man purported to be flying under Republic colours was actually working for the Resistance. And, given that he's been somewhat _occupied_ since Jakku, he hasn't taken the time to rectify that.

Which… means his dogtags are close by, in the line of shed clothing leading towards the little lake. Though he doesn't have to admit that out loud, of course. Not without… _encouragement_.

And plenty of it. _That_ is a good start, and makes him cry in shock at the heady mix of pain and pleasure it sends shooting through him. But he's determined to make the other man work for this.

"I won't… I won't give you anything," he gasps out.

Kylo's thumbs slide, following the hidden lines of sinew and tendon, chasing nerve-endings he knows oh so well. He's a master of pain, of knowing where to strike. It's an innate talent that the Force only sharpens for him, and without it he still has plenty of tricks up his sleeves. He replies – mostly so his mouth sends vibrations into the other man's balls, and then he lets them slip out with a scrape of teeth.

"Oh, but you will. The Dark Side is strong." And his voice is filled with more gravel than a strip-mine on Dantooine. "You will submit to my will. I will make you--" and here he pinches the skin just behind Poe's balls, even as he licks him all the way to the tip of his cock again. "-- _surrender_."

Now just the very edge of his tongue comes out to play. He pins Poe's cock to his belly with one hand, palm-flat, over the base. That way he can give him tiny little not-quite-there licks until he finds places that make the man whine loudest.

"I'd like to see you try," Poe manages, in what is meant to be sensible-strong-pilot voice but actually comes out around half an octave higher and significantly less sensible. Or strong. "I won't… won't ever… _ohfuckfuckfuck_..."

The string of expletives is clear sign that he's already getting desperate, whimpering at the stimulation, the teasing. He knows he's going to give in. Knows he won't be able to resist it, sooner or later. Not because he's weak, but because he _needs_ so much that it will break him.

Maybe it already has. Or maybe… he'll break because he knows he can. Knows it's all right to let go. Knows he can acquiesce to that voice inside his head, the voice that echoes Kylo.

 _Surrender_.

Long lashes trail delicately over his cheeks as Kylo draws love-letters with the spear of his tongue. He drags over the place that seems to make Poe yell the loudest, then chases it up with a nip of his teeth. He makes as if he's going to swallow his cock whole – waiting for eye-contact – and when he gets it his head goes elsewhere.

Goes lower, and his tongue slashes between the other man's buttocks, licking a wet stripe between the cheeks. His hand moves to curl around Poe's dick – tighttighttight – and with a shove, he's fucking into his ass with his tongue.

" _Mercy_!" Poe cries out, sounding utterly wrecked. Although… he doesn't say he surrenders. Doesn't outright concede. Not yet. And that is partly due to stubbornness, to resistance, but is also due to the fact that he rather likes the idea of begging for mercy and _not getting it_.

The list of new things he likes is apparently getting longer. And darker.

Kylo knows that Poe doesn't want him to stop, of course he does. Even without the Force he knows a man caught when he hears (and feels) one. Knows that tone in his voice is begging for more, even if his words say otherwise. He pushes his nose sharply into Poe's balls, his tongue fucking him as roughly as he can: first wide and stretching, then tensed to jab against his inner walls. The hand on his cock starts to pump, starts to stroke and it's clear he has done _that_ to himself, at least, because he's brutal and sure and knows when to twist and when to squeeze and when to drag downdowndown to the root and choke-hold over the base.

About the same time as he starts to chokingly hum with his tongue still lodged inside him.

Poe howls to the sky, a single, shattered shout that drags all the air from his lungs. His hands – unrestrained, save for the feeling that the other man would not take kindly to interference – smack into the ground, bunching in the grass. Desperate to find some outlet for the very necessary reaction that doesn't include the inevitable.

But he isn't going to be able to hold on much longer. If nothing else, he feels like he's going to explode from the attention, and he's confident Kylo is going to drag this out as long as possible. And that really might break him.

"Please," he whimpers, like a man on the edge. Because he is. "Please… mercy…"

Hand curled in place, knowing it will stop the bloodflow, knowing it will make Poe's release almost impossible to find, Kylo licks his way back out of his pilot. And then toys with just the entrance to his body for a few moments more, before he drops his head onto the man's hip.

The smile on his face is cruel, cruel and knowing. And **smug**. He uses his other hand, scraping his nails over the puckered flesh behind his balls, threatening so much more.

"Your dogtags," he rumbles, and it's almost as if he _does_ have the Force right now. "Your droid. Your ship. Your body. Your mind. Your heart." And on the final word, he pushes three fingers right into him, and _bends_ them, finding that place inside him and teasing it over and over, with great force. Milking his prostate, knowing from last night that it makes him see stars.

" _ **I surrender! I surrender! Anything!**_ " Poe cries out, completely wrecked, completely desperate, and begging unreservedly. He sounds like a man truly ready to give up everything, the emotion in his voice impossible to fake. " _Please. **Please!**_ "

And, all at once, his mind just snaps. It's similar to how it felt last night, but much faster. Not so much a slow descent as an instant drop, like stepping off a cliffside and plummeting immediately into the black water below. No… like being _pushed_ off a cliffside and plummeting immediately into the black water below.

The overwhelming tangle of sensation doesn't go away – of course it doesn't – but it seems to change somehow. Or… his perception of it does, certainly. The line between pain and pleasure disappears, and they become one, melting into each other, so close and so tight that they can't be told apart.

They all just feel the same. _Incredible_.

"Please…" he keeps whispering, but softly now, more like a prayer than a plea.

Oh, but that's heady. That's… there's no words. Kylo doesn't know how to describe what it does to him, how it stabs him through the gut, like a sabre-wound piercing up and into the heart. He could almost come himself, from the way Poe screams, the way his body twitches, the look on his face and the emotion he can _feel_ it as surely as he could with the Force.

Kylo doesn't stop. No. He wants to drag this moment out, to see how much he can do to the man, to see where his limits are. He wraps his lips around the head of his cock and starts to suckle his way down, hands still holding and working and teasing and poking. He wants Poe so far gone he doesn't even know there's a thing he's waiting _for_. He wonders if it's possible to keep this going for hours… (perhaps later, when he has all the galaxy out of their way, when he can take his time with his lover)... and when he lifts his head from Poe's cock, letting it slip out, he whispers lovingly to him.

"I'm going to make love to you, now. I'm going to take you slowly. You will put your hands around your cock, and you will hold it tight and not let go until I tell you to. Do you understand me, Poe?"

" _Yes_ ," the other man whispers. His voice is a million miles away, and right here at the same time, wracked by desperation and completely accepting. Both are true at once. "Yes… yes… anything…"

He lifts a hand from the grass and slides it down to wrap around his own cock, just holding tight, as he's been told. He knows precisely where to grip to keep himself from coming – from experience, from practice – and he does it without even paying it any thought.

And… he drifts, in the endless black of space, mind and body full of such sensation that it seems as though he'd need the whole universe to contain it. The whole universe, and the will of the man between his legs.

Kylo smiles, and it's a warm, genuine smile. "Good. Good. You keep tight hold. I'm going to take you properly. I'm going to take you slowly, and then hard. And you're going to ride every last wave through your body, and know how much you mean to me."

His fingers come out, and Kylo moves them carefully together. He urges Poe's legs around his waist as he settles closer in. He puts his hands on either side of Poe's face and stoops to kiss him the minute he slides in.

Poe's so relaxed and open that it doesn't matter that it's only spit and a prayer, though Kylo would still probably have used something if it was to hand. It makes the sliding into him a little rough, but not too rough. He rocks his hips back and forth, pulling out then pushing all the way back in again. It feels so glorious, but better still because of the expression of such joy and peace on Poe's face. Passion, but… calm passion. Dichotomy. He kisses his face all over, murmuring soft reassurance and promises, offering him the galaxy, offering him anything. And he'd give it to him, too. If Poe decided he wanted the whole of known space, Kylo knows he'd conquer it for him. If he wanted to spend their lives in a port away from everywhere, flying over empty canyons and making careful love each night, he'd give it to him. If he wanted blood and screaming and agony and that knife-edge they walk… that, too.

Kylo's not going to last as long as he wants, he knows, now. He can't, not with the way the other man feels under and around him, and he pushes his face into his neck. "I'm yours," he promises, fighting the inevitable, struggling to keep back his climax. "All yours. Only yours." His own voice going distant, the pleasure too much.

"Come with me."

He knows Poe will. Knows he'll let go when he's told, knows that his body will tense and clench and drag every drop of pleasure from his poor, aching cock. Knows he'll spill for the third time, this time on bare skin. Knows when Kylo kisses him like he thinks he might love him, that Poe won't hate him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The words are all Poe needs, and he lets go all at once – physically, mentally, emotionally – instantly coming so hard that it writes fresh stars across the ceaseless black of his inner sky. He doesn't scream, doesn't cry out, but instead _gasps_ like a man finally breaking the surface of deep water, even though – in truth – he is still so far beneath the surface that he's forgotten what the light looks like.

"Yours," he whispers, rapt and certain. "Yours, all yours…"

He comes and he comes until he has nothing left in him, until the final lingering flickers of tension drop out of his body and he just lies, boneless, exhausted, drifting, in the grass beneath an alien sun, in the arms of a man who is re-writing his whole world with every last breath.

Love – and it is love, he is sure, though he won't say the word so soon – like this… can't be wrong. Kylo knows that, and wonders if it felt similar for his grandfather, too? It can't be wrong. The desire to make another happy, to give them everything, to offer your heart and soul and be prepared to hurt for them. Because he is, just as much as Poe is. His is a different kind of hurt, but no less real.

He kisses him more, kisses his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, his throat. Whispers nonsense words and offerings, whispers that Poe is beautiful, so beautiful, so good and right and true. Whispers that he doesn't deserve him, but he'll make him happy. Make him proud. Whatever it takes, he promises. And he curls around him, a protective and caring hug, a knowledge that he can be the black cloak that wraps around and protects him. That he can be the armour, that he can be his Force. And he will. Oh, he knows he will.

Kylo holds him. He can't do much more but do that, do that and lie with him. Lie with him until the sun overhead sets them both to drifting, puts them out of the world and into somewhere else.


	8. Long Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, you lovely people, have some plot!
> 
> This chapter is a shameless homage to _Portal_. It does not, however, contain cake.

It's a while before Poe starts to come round from whatever this thing is that keeps happening to him. He's lain in the other man's arms for quite some time – they've rolled, now, so he's snuggled in against Kylo's side, half across his chest – and in that time, he's mostly just… drifted. Some of the time, actually asleep, and the rest… just _being_.

It is an extraordinarily lovely sensation. Everything is still, everything is quiet, and his whole body thrums with rapture and bliss, but without any kind of ensuing tension or energy. It just _is_.

When his mind does start to re-emerge, he tightens his arm around the other man, first words little more than a happy murmur. "You're good at that thing that you do."

"Which thing?" Kylo asks. Mostly because he's an asshole, but also because he's insecure and would really like it spelled out for his broken ego.

Kylo has spent all this time split between making plans for the destruction of the Starkiller, trying to work out the next puzzle and when the door will open, and then finally plotting where he's going to take Poe when this all finishes and he can make some form of a home. With a bed. Definitely with a bed. A bath. Some ligature points dotted around. Kitchen. The usual.

"That thing you do," Poe repeats. He sounds almost as though he's drunk. "You know… where you go all… all _you_... and make me surrender. And come. And pass out in your arms." A pause. A little look up, searching for the other man's eyes. "You're good at that."

Quite before he forgets himself, Kylo beams brightly. "Not as good as you are at making me _want_ to do it. Do you have any idea what you do to me? How you make me ready to offer you anything, if only to make you look in my direction?"

Okay, possibly too much information, and also not really the Cool, Calm, Powerful Sith he's aiming to present as. "You are, though. Incredible." He cups Poe's jaw, and runs his thumb over the stubble prickling through. They're going to need to shave, soon, or look like they're trying to become Jedi themselves. "Thank you."

It is a thing he hasn't really said in years. Not like that. Not and meant it.

"I've been working through some plans whilst you recovered." Sort of a save.

Hearing words like _that_ from a man like Kylo Ren is all kinds of wonderful, and Poe can't help beaming back at him. He doesn't push the matter, though – getting the sense that the other man has been a little more open than he intended – and just lets the emotion show in his eyes.

"What sort of plans?" he asks, instead.

"For one, if this place is an anti-Sith trap laid by the Jedi, then if there is another test it will be on the next precept: _there is no ignorance, there is knowledge_. After that, it's serenity instead of passion, harmony instead of chaos, and the Force instead of death." He knows it all too well, and he avoids reciting it verbatim because it feels a little too… reminiscent of a time he'd rather forget about. Although if it helps them escape, he'll take it. 

"And secondly, I was running through how we could destroy the Starkiller base. I believe if I can get a copy of the schematics to you, to take when you escape, you will be able to plan an assault. I can arrange for the shield to come down… possibly twice… as I doubt an aerial assault alone would suffice. You likely need to weaken the infrastructure before you do a bombing run on it…" 

He has been busy. 

"Also, I suspect if we _are_ being tested, that the door to the next chamber will only open when we leave this oasis. So we should clean our clothes and form a small stockpile in case we do not get this opportunity again. There is fruit, and we can supplement that with the protein in the pod's emergency supplies. We should eke out our survival for a lot longer that way." 

Poe smiles some more, giving the other man an arched little look. "And here I was thinking you were just a pretty face," he teases, lightly. "All of that sounds good to me. Well… maybe not _good_ , exactly, but certainly workable."

The instant survival parts especially. Thinking about the Starkiller base… is not good at all. He needs to warn the Resistance about it, but getting to that point requires a great deal. A _great_ deal.

"You think this _is_ an anti-Sith trap, then?" he asks, opting to focus on the immediate. "Would the Jedi of old really have made something like that?"

It certainly seems that way, though – at the same time – it feels off, somehow.

The warmth seems to die a little in Kylo's eyes, his cheeks going paler with memory. "Yes. Yes, I believe they might well have. They were so afraid of the Dark Side that they controlled their initiates' lives down to the finest detail. Children were torn from their parents, never knowing their names, and drilled like soldiers… much like Hux's Stormtroopers…" 

His lips tighten into thin lines, sucking in a painful breath. His words are strangely devoid of emotion, as if the concept is so abhorrent he can't even process it. "If a Jedi wished to marry, they would insist upon controlling the union. They would assess the couple to ensure they formed no bond, and allow only brief times for… for copulation. Any children would be surrendered to the Order. And if you transgressed? They might very well cut you off from the Force entirely." 

Head tilted, he peers at Poe. "And those are the loyal Jedi. So afraid of any emotion that even positive ones are forbidden on pain of the highest punishment. If they would do that to their own, what do you think they would do to a Sith?"

Poe puts his hand on Kylo's chest. He doesn't need the Force to sense the other man's pain, and the need to help is strangely overwhelming. He's a little stunned, too, at Kylo's words – after all, the Jedi have been legend-level heroes to Poe his whole life, so to hear them described this way is…

...odd. Difficult.

"This," he says, quietly. "I suppose they would do this. This place. Maybe it is meant to make a point. Or… send a message."

"One which I seem to be ignoring entirely." Kylo does offer a tiny smile at that. Exiled to the planet of the You Will Learn How To Jedi and it's just driven him right into the arms of his co-exile. Repeatedly. Loudly. With gusto. 

"However, I won't change my mind. I tried their methods, and they… do not work. Not for me, anyway. Perhaps a certain mindset thrives under their control, but…" he shakes his head. "I am too heart-strong and too… emotional for their clinical view of the world." Admittedly his fall from grace won't play on the holocasts as a proud example of the other way of thought, but… he can't help but wonder if the Jedi's prescriptive behaviour didn't play more than a small part in radicalising people like himself. 

"So either I pretend I learn my lessons enough, or I kill fifteen Rancors, pile them high, and use them to scale the walls and signal my ship." 

"I'd help you do that anyday," Poe promises. Partly because watching the other man with his lightsabre is _really_ hot, and partly because it might work. Things did get better yesterday when they killed that Rancor, and not just because – on a more obvious level – the hideous thing in question was dead.

He pauses. Lying here like this is very nice, and he still feels a little distant, but on the other hand… they really do need to get moving.

"Come on," he says, making it clear in his voice that he's speaking from necessity. "We should make preparations to move out. And find our clothes. And possibly I need to reassure BB-8 that I'm still alive…"

"Your droid did come to check on you earlier. I reassured him that you were not dead, and that any screaming noises were entirely consensual." Kylo crooks a finger under his chin, then kisses the side of his mouth. Just for good luck. "If you can see to the clothing, I can prepare a small meal before we set out and put a store of fresh water and fruit aside for later?"

"How very domestic," Poe muses, with another grin. He stays pressed in close for another moment – because he can – and then adds. "All right. Moving. I can do moving."

He can, too. If he tries. It has to be slow, however, given that he _has_ been fucked very hard three times in the last not-that-long. And he really feels it.

But it's easier once he's scrambled to his feet (and his head has remembered how to balance). He wanders around, scooping up all of their various items of clothing, before hauling them over to the lake to scrub them clean. It takes a while, given all of the mud, blood and come – and given the other man's fondness for _layers_ – but eventually he's done.

Which would be when he practically dives back into the lake, to get himself clean, and _oh_ , but that feels good. And welcome, in the growing heat, the sun overhead becoming more and more oppressive as it climbs ever-higher.

Eventually, he scrambles back to dry land and pulls his clothes on. They are still pretty wet but – considering the heat of the sun – they likely won't be for long. His boots are last – those, at least, are still dry – and then he stands, idly sticking his hands in his pockets.

The fingers of his right hand brush against cool metal, and he goes suddenly still as he realises that he's touching his dogtags, where he tucked them away before going to Jakku. The same dogtags he swore to Kylo in surrender. Poe lifts them out, staring at them as the engraved silver metal catches the light; hypnotised, almost, by the thoughts in his own head.

And then… he lifts the familiar, loose chain and slips it around his neck. Not out of some kind of rebellion, but… as some subtle sign of who he belongs to.

And he doesn't mean the Resistance.

Whether he likes admitting to his heritage and training or not, Kylo's upbringing means he can be pretty damn domestic at times. He knows survival skills like others know Basic, and he merely rolls his eyes at his sass-pilot before going about the rest of his duties.

Apparently having forgotten his shame for the moment, if the naked almost-Sith wandering back and forth with water flasks and baskets for food is anything to go by. He glares at BB-8 when it beeps something cheeky on its way to see Poe. 

Kylo gives them some time together, not wanting to interfere. He's aware he's monopolising the pilot – **his** pilot – but the astromech's had him to itself for long enough. Kylo's had no one, and so he's going to keep Poe firmly in hand at every opportunity. 

When he's done, he walks over to see Poe slipping the chain on, and smiles. He stoops to place a soft kiss to the back of his neck, before he goes into the water and out much more quickly. They need to make effective use of the rest of the daylight, and when he emerges he narrows his eyes at the clothes made ready for him. 

"Am I an acceptable enough suitor to your chaperone, yet?" he asks, as he rationalises his wardrobe down. He slips on socks and briefs, pulls the pants and the undershirt on. He leaves the cloak for now, and the padded jacket. It's hot, and he doesn't need that much. The difference is rather striking. 

BB-8 bumps at Poe's heels and chitters. Poe grins. "He's warming to you." A brighter smile – almost a smirk – and full of mischief. "I know the feeling."

He waits for Kylo to finish dressing – finding he rather likes the reduction in layers, even if all that ominous black is a strange kind of hot when you're no longer concerned about getting murdered – and then steps in closer. Not trying to start anything or provoke anything, but just wanting to be affectionate.

Kylo doesn't flinch, or immediately puff up, or start to posture dramatically… which is progress of a sort. "I hope your droid is not developing amorous intentions towards me. I'm afraid I think I might be Poe-sexual. Any affection would be unrequited."

BB-8 makes a rude noise, but not an angry one. 

"Are we all prepared to… become enlightened?" Kylo asks. A little reticence towards public displays of affection, but not chokingly so. He's naturally a little more reserved than Poe. Most people are more reserved than Poe. 

"I think I might be angry-hot-Sith-Lord-sexual," Poe replies, easily. "Which is something of a surprise, even for me. And… yes. Yes, I think I'm ready for some enlightenment. Hopefully without the Rancor this time."

BB-8 bumps at his heels once more, now sounding somewhat mournful.

"I'm guessing this place won't let you come with us again," Poe says, turning to his astro. "But we'll be just fine. And we'll be back before you know it."

From the sequence of sharper bleeps BB-8 makes, the droid doesn't seem wholly convinced. But it doesn't argue, and instead turns to accompany them at least as far as the pod.

"You should keep a chaste tongue in your head before I have to replace it with a cruel one." Okay, not the best chat up line ever, but he's… trying? He deserves some points. Kylo's still fixing his lightsabre to his belt when there's a rumble of stone rotating behind. 

BB-8's 'head' drops mournfully, its tone following suit. 

"I will return him in one piece," he promises. "I have a vested interest in him, now." 

The droid bumps against his boot this time, then insists he keeps said promise. 

"You have my word."

BB-8 seems to accept that, and traces a small circle before running up as far towards the newly opened door as it can. 

Poe feels a certain amount of apprehension about what lies ahead. That is understandable, and normal, and sensible. He _also_ feels more than a little excitement, even though on some level he thinks he shouldn't. Not just because this place seems to have been designed to torture Sith, but also because – if yesterday is anything to go by – they'll be in very real danger all too soon.

And… off they go, heading towards the second archway, which has opened up further down from the first, where once there was only rough stone and foliage. This one clearly leads deeper into the ruin, rather than the forest, and Poe wonders what they're going to find in there.

"You ready for this?" he says, softly, to Kylo.

It's almost a foolish question, but Kylo knows why it's asked. "I don't think I'm ever going to be ready to have my Jedi forebears attempt to murder me, but I'm as ready as I will be." 

If yesterday taught him nothing else, it's that he really was right to reject the Jedi path. Maybe not to follow Snoke, but thinking for himself – truly for himself – makes his head feel clearer than it has in years. "I will give it my best shot."

This doorway leads into a corridor, one built with tall, stone walls. The ceiling is a good foot or two higher than Kylo, and comfortable enough for four to walk abreast if they wanted to. It's eerily not dark, the ceiling and some of the walls covered in some organic, glowing matter. Kylo has no desire to test what it is, but it does provide them with dim, ambient light.

"If this is knowledge, it should be easier to fake than serenity or other foolish things," he muses, flicking out his lightsabre and lifting it up to the first wall to examine the masonry joints and the mossy substance. "Although, depending on how old this place is, it could well be things that have since been improved upon. How do you think like an ignorant, extinct Jedi?"

Poe is still not sold on the Jedi-hate, though he does understand better where the other man is coming from. "I guess… if they built this place as a trap, then maybe it would be designed to make a point? To… I don't know, to demonstrate the merits of their ways as opposed to those of the Sith?"

He stares around carefully, cautiously, one hand resting on the blaster at his hip. At least he can be suitably honest about that, now.

"...surely knowledge is knowledge, without moral implication?" Kylo turns the emitter off, and puts the hilt back on his belt. "How would you demonstrate your smug, stuffy moral high ground through logic and cold, hard facts?"

Apparently by presenting them with a dead end. A literal dead end. Just a wall with no obvious markings, no… anything. 

"Knowledge can have moral implication," Poe muses, pacing closer to that obstructing wall, eyes flicking over it for some kind of clue as to what they're supposed to do. "How you get it. How you use it. Maybe… it's about knowledge that comes from a worthy source?"

Though he doesn't know how that might translate into whatever this is. The wall is flat and unremarkable, not carved like the one that they found at the end of the forest path. He regards it warily.

The taller man arches up onto the balls of his feet, examining the surface intently. He can't see any pattern to the markings on it, and he can't see any writing, either. He carefully spreads the fingers of each hand and starts to ghost them over the surface, looking for some hidden switch or button. 

"A Jedi would probably ask the wall to move in the name of galactic justice," Kylo grumbles, under his breath. Nothing clicks beneath his touch, and he growls before he kicks it.

"You could try that," Poe concedes. "Or... " He lays a hand on the surface of the stone too. It is cool to the touch, cooler than he might have expected. "...What if it's simpler? Yesterday it looked like maybe we both had to come to terms with what we wanted. To be at peace with it?" Poe is not at all sure of this, but it's starting to look that way to him. "So… maybe we have to work together, and not overthink this."

He puts his other hand on the wall too, and pushes. The blank stone refuses to budge, remaining immobile and immoveable, except…

...Just a flicker of a give. Did he imagine it?

"You think I have to learn how to make friends?" It sounds more sarcastic than Kylo intended it to. "How very… Resistance of you." He braces his feet all the same, wincing at the jolt to his ankle (damn, he'd hoped that was healing faster) and pushes. Is it… is it moving?

"Do you feel anything?" 

"You _did_ make a friend," comes the pilot's rather sassy reply. "And… OK, I definitely felt it that time. I think we need to push harder."

He turns, resting his good shoulder against the wall, and putting all his effort into that. No sense in doing more damage to his bad arm. Though maybe this path has other ideas.

Friend. So that's what they're going to say? 'Hi, mother, please meet my new 'friend', I think you already know him quite well…' Kylo shoves harder, and there's a sound of rock on sand. He closes his eyes and reaches down inside for the part of him that's loudest right now, the part of him that's wondering what terminology they use, when it's… when it's official. What you call your new fuckbuddy pilot. When you can tell them… tell them…

It moves faster, all of a sudden, and so fast that they nearly wind up falling flat on their faces. The block tumbles into a gap, falling over forwards and revealing a wider chamber beyond.

There's more blocks. Blocks and gaps. And a deep, dark chasm below. The spaces between many of the blocks look too wide to jump, and it's clear it's some kind of puzzle that involves shunting heavy stone around.

Wonderful. 

"Apparently the Jedi were fond of children's toys."

Poe stares out at it, hand over his injured arm, which he's managed to catch in the process of not falling to the floor when that block moves.

"This is like nothing I've ever seen before. Is this… did you expect something like this? It looks like an assault course."

He paces a little closer to the edge of the chasm, looking down. And down. And _down_. It gives him a slight lurch in his stomach, similar to the sensation he gets when he's flying, albeit less pleasant. On account of the lack of ship.

"Something like this. It's not as… vigorous for the padawans as it would be for captive Sith, but both sides believe in testing their acolytes out to the extremes of their capabilities. We should likely be thankful there's no running lava, or acid." Although maybe there is some, down there…

Kylo tries to look around, tries to pathfind from his vantage point. It looks excruciatingly complicated. "And of course, if I had the Force, none of this would be a problem." 

"That would seem to be the point," Poe says. "But… we can still do this. We just need to work out where to start."

And stop looking down. Looking _out_ is better, and Poe's eyes scan the room, trying to make sense of it. "These two bridges seem like a good option, but… why do I get the feeling we're supposed to take one each?"

"I would wonder how it's designed for two of us, but then… it could rearrange itself to suit the number of participants." Kylo glances sideways to him. "I don't think we should split up. If nothing else, your droid would try to kill me with its laser torch if I came back empty-handed." 

Not to mention Kylo is pretty damn sure he'd take his lightsabre and hack through every last wall until he got to Poe. No need to say that aloud at all, because it's there in the way his brow darkens. 

Despite it all, Poe grins. "BB-8 likes you really. Though he might be upset if I die, that is true."

Though not as upset as you would be, he thinks. Which is all kinds of hot.

"All right. Let's try the one on the left. Together."

And he starts to pace cautiously towards it, hoping that it's safer than it looks.

Kylo's arm snaps out to block Poe, stopping him from going any further. When their eyes meet, it's… well. It's certainly concern that's making him demand he go second, not any perverted power play.

Although when he thinks about that potential for later, it does stir something nice in his stomach. "Be prepared for Jedi trickery. We are likely still to present as staid and placid." And I'm not having you fall off a block into deadly acid. He creeps forward instead, testing the ground with boot-toes. He gets to the end and there's… well. There's no way he's getting over the traverse without…

"It appears there are hand and foot holes around parts of the wall, no doubt for us to use to climb to the next section of the 'track'." His eyes flicker to Poe's arm. "Are you going to be able to manage?"

"I'm good with pain," Poe points out, softly. "And very determined when I want to be." Which is pretty much all of the time. "I'll be fine."

He looks at the – for want of a better term – 'path' and then glances at Kylo again. "And never mind me, what about you? Are _you_ going to be OK?"

He already knows the answer, of course, because there is only one answer that Kylo Ren would surely give in this case. But that won't stop him asking.

"By 'good' do you mean 'sexually aroused by', because I'm sure the Jedi didn't actually intend to turn this amphitheatre into a sexual deviance assault course, but then… perhaps they used to holocast it for amusement's sake. I am sure more than one of the Council had perverted tastes and sublimated their sexual desire into sadism alone…" Kylo arches one brow, and then shakes his head in rough amusement.

"Darksider. You may have heard that we use some things for focus? Emotion being one, pain being another. Even if this was too much, I would just push through it." 

All the same… "Perhaps we should invest in some rope. To tie us together. If we're going to be climbing. In case… in case anything happens."

"That might be for the best," Poe agrees, suddenly trying very hard to concentrate on the dangerous life-or-death situation, because… _seriously, Dameron, later!_ "And no, incidentally, I do not – in this case – mean 'sexually aroused by'. I'm just good with pain. Takes a lot to bring me down."

Although the blurring of lines here is very obvious. And becoming more so.

He pulls open the pack he's carrying and digs around inside for… aha. Yes. They _do_ have rope. The other man certainly kept _that_ quiet. Poe tugs the neatly-wound cord out and starts to unspool it.

"I shall remind you you said that, later." Kylo watches calmly as Poe gets the cord out, then walks over to assist. To be helpful.

Kylo's hands work quickly and surely, knotting a harness around Poe's hips and thighs like a holster to distribute the weight. He tries not to slide his palms too much over the other man's thighs, then walks out a reasonable length before mirroring the harness on his own waist. 

"This will also prevent you from wandering off somewhere," he says, off-handedly. "It's important I know where you are at all times." 

"I have no intention of wandering off _anywhere_ ," Poe points out, which is true in both the bad and objective senses of the phrase.

And then he looks out in the direction they need to go, taking a deep breath. It's a good thing he's comfortable with heights, or this would be unpleasant. As it is, all he needs to do is not fall. And not let Kylo fall.

He headtilts. "Shall we?"

"I will go first," Kylo says, but only because he wants to make sure Poe doesn't fall on the initial ascent, when it's harder for Kylo to keep him from dying. Plus, his arms and legs are longer. He scales the wall with surprising ease, giving Poe enough slack to follow him.

He remembers other times he's climbed walls, suddenly, and winces at the thought. It's not welcome, and he shoves it to one side. 

It really shouldn't be all that difficult, Poe thinks, as he follows. He's done plenty of physical training and he was always good at it. And this… is just more of the same. Higher stakes – and higher fall – but no reason to see it any other way.

His arm does make it a little tricky, but he wasn't exaggerating when he said he's good with pain, and, so long as he makes sure not to risk all his balance and grip on it, it doesn't cause problems, and…

_...a rush of sensation in his chest, in his stomach, like the feeling right at the top of an arc, before he pushes forward on the stick and drops into a dive, only… only with the unerring sense that something is wrong, that it's all just going to give, like that day when..._

Poe pauses, holding on tight, taking a deep breath, as the feeling passes. It was… wait, was it…?

No. Surely nothing. He keeps going.

Kylo turns his head, peering down at the other man, noticing the change in his breathing. "Too fast?" he asks, hesitating. Even hesitating when scaling a wall is extra stress, stress he'd rather avoid.

He waits for the headshake that it's fine before he continues, but now his hackles are raised defensively. Every breath seems to echo longer than it should, like a gasp bouncing around inside a closed, closed system. Like the reverb you feel when your face is covered. Like the fishbowl-like claustrophobia behind a mask.

His left foot reaches for a foothold that _moves_. He's sure it moves. It was there one minute, gone the next. Like the monsters that used to run around the _Falcon_ at night. Those were imaginary. No baby-Mynocks aboard, no tiny Sarlaac pits around the U-bend. 

_"Ben."_

No.

_"Hey, buddy, how'd you get up there?"_

Ren bites down on his lower lip, pushing his sore foot harder into the current foothold and reaching wider for the--

_"Don't move! Stay where you--"_

His hands shake, knuckles going white around a desperate attempt not to fall. 

"Kylo? Kylo!"

Poe knows something is wrong, now. He looks up at the other man, tightening his own grip in case – Maker forbid – Kylo falls and Poe somehow has to hold them both up. With an arm that doesn't have sufficient strength.

"What is it? Are you all right? Is…" Should he bring it up? "...Was it a memory?"

Kylo's gone as stiff as a board, his posture rigid with terror. It's so far. So far down. His dad can't get there in time. He doesn't remember how he got this high up, but he's staring down at the ground and he knows – knows – if he lets go of the _X-Wing's_ rudder that he's going to fall and it's going to hurt and his little legs shake and he wants to cry because he just wanted to be like Uncle Luke and fly and save people and Dad was busy with the _Falcon_ and C-3PO was so easy to duck at times and he knows it will hurt, knows it will do more than just split his knees and make his palms bloody and sore. He knows he shouldn't have done it but he had to, he had to, and now everyone will be **mad** at him if he even lives and it's so far and he's so afraid and he'd even take C-3PO's scolding if his cold, metal arms were there for him to fall into and something shifts and he's--

" **I'M GONNA FALL** ," he wails, voice much younger and more terrified, somehow at least an octave higher without sounding shrill. "I can't… I can't… it hurts... " 

" _Kylo!_ " Poe calls out, louder and more insistent this time, and now he knows he's going to have to move. To get closer to the man and snap him out of _whatever_ this is.

Maybe some sort of Force-trick? To mess with their minds? Poe just has to hope it doesn't hit him again, and…

_...diving, now, with the sputter of engines to port and starboard, and the trees below whirling closer and closer, then a voice on the radio, "Pull up! Pull up!" and..._

No. **No**. _**Focus**_.

Trying to keep his mind in the moment – and not in the past – Poe starts climbing up the wall, as rapidly as he dares. Wanting to get to Kylo before this becomes any worse.

"I just… I just wanted to show Dad I can be like him," Kylo – **Ben** – sniffles, his knees clearly knocking with a remembered weakness, a past body. "I didn't mean to get up so high. I just – I wanted…" 

His foot slides, and he yelps in terror, body going flat to the wall as if that would help him not to fall. He won't even turn his head towards Poe, convinced that any movement will have him falling down onto the hangar bay launchpad. 

What in the..? Not good. Not good. Poe keeps climbing, almost missing a handhold and cursing the ache in his arm as he catches his balance, remembering not to look down. And then, after another couple of steps, he's finally close enough to reach out and – risky though it is – grasp hold of the other man's shoulder.

"Kylo. Look at me. Focus."

The man keeps using that name, a name Ben doesn't recognise. His head whips around, and there's half a shot of recognition, half a shot of complete surprise to see him. The memory doesn't have a man with soft, curly hair in. It jolts him, and he whimpers. 

Kylo. Ben. Kylo. Ben. 

"I didn't mean to," he says, tone still a little childish and worried. "I didn't mean to. I can't get down. I don't like spaceships. I hate them!" Hate with that way a child would have, a minor dislike turned into the most epic of sensations in a heartbeat. "I want to get down."

Poe may not have the Force, but he's confident it's responsible for what's happening to Kylo right now. And that makes him strangely defensive, spurring him on even when he feels that lurch in his stomach again, that sense that _the ground is rushing closer… closer..._

No.

"It's OK," Poe insists, going for broke. "It's OK. If you want to get down, you need to keep going."

"I don't think I can," Ben replies, and his hands are shaking from the effort. It's not a full grown man in the prime of his life clinging to the wall, but a terrified child. "I don't know how much longer I can hold on." 

And if he falls, they both go. Poe knows that. Knows that his chances of holding the pair of them up – with only one good arm – are minimal at best.

So. Got to stop it coming to that.

He moves in closer, then grasps Kylo's arm again. "You're not going to fall. I won't let you. Look at me. _I won't let you_."

There's a fierceness in his tone, not aggression but fervour.

Terrified eyes fight it at first, but then they look up. The man – Poe – looks like he is brave. Ben bites his lip and nods. "Will you catch me, if I fall?" he asks. A little of the tension fades, a little more confidence in his posture.

"Yes," Poe tells him. Knowing there's far more to this than mere gravity. "Yes, I will. I promise."

"Okay…" 

It's difficult for him, controlling a body that doesn't feel at odds with his mind, but with each passing half-step, things start to dissolve, the past fading and the present getting louder. He feels the stinging in his calf, the way his knees lock, and he brushes his cheek across the stone wall to reassure himself he's here.

"I'm sorry," he says, whilst he's still able to do so, caught half-way between the child-that-was and the man-that-is. "I'm trying to be brave." He's almost at the platform, but it requires a little… push. He will have to jump backwards, and he glances back to Poe for more reassurance. 

"Ready?"

Poe glances in the same direction – trying not to overthink it – and then meets the other man's eyes, trying to keep his own expression as level and as sure as possible.

"Yes," he answers. "Ready. On three. One, two…"

Ben closes his eyes and pushes off backwards, landing awkwardly and yelping in pain. Only he's leapt too fast, too far, and there's a horrid moment when his eyes go wide as the realisation of what's coming next hits him **hard**.

"POE!"

He yells it even as the pulling tugs the other man from the wall, and then he's dropping down towards the pit below. Kylo flips himself over, landing hard on his chest when gravity takes over, the impact knocking all air from his lungs. Before he can stop the momentum, he slides backwards so only his torso is still on the platform they were both aiming at, his whole waist in agony from the weight on the harness. His hands scratch uselessly at the stone, making his fingers bloody with effort, his toes shoved into the side of the block. Bent over the edge, calling loudly in pain, it's all he can do to hold on.

Weirdly, Poe doesn't make a sound until the rope has pulled taut, half-smacking him into the sheer rock face some distance down. The sensation of the fall is horrific, a lurching sense deep in his chest, but he doesn't fully process it until the momentum is gone and he's hanging against the cliffside, mind racing with what's just happened.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps out, a little winded by the shock and the sudden pressure of the rope. "Fuck. Fuck."

Think, Dameron, think.

"Kylo? Are you all right up there?" Really not the first question he should be asking at this point.

"No!" is the answer, honest and angry. Not angry at Poe, but at himself for fucking this up so terribly. His whole torso is aflame with the need to hold on, his chest pressed so hard against the stone that he can barely breathe. 

A scratch of leather against masonry, as he tries – and fails – to climb himself up and to safety. "This would be when I need the _Force_ ," he complains, and then scrabbles to regain the ground he just lost. 

"Can you brace against something? I think I can climb back up if you do."

Poe is not at all certain he can climb back up, but if he _doesn't_ , the risk is high that it will get them both killed. Which means he _is_ certain, simply because there is no alternative.

None that either of them would allow, at least.

"I am currently as braced as I get," Kylo points out. "If you can get to my lightsabre, you can likely cut yourself a path back up." One that would also reduce the strain on his frame, which is considerable. He praises the Force that Poe is such a well-oiled machine of a man. 

It hurts, oh does it hurt. "I will… not fall." 

"I can do this without it," Poe insists. Because… now is not the time to be thinking about getting his hands on the other man's lightsabre. Again. "If I push out a little, I can abseil up. I trust my legs more than I trust my arm right now."

He is trying to sound as sure and as confident as he can, and not like he is slightly afraid for his life.

And… he really needs to move. Before the real terror kicks in. And so – leading with his good arm – he starts to angle himself against the wall, feet braced against the rough stone.

The movement makes Kylo slip, just a little, and he bites down a hiss of pain, bracing his legs and arms and gut so hard it aches all the way into his core. He grunts in encouragement, and thunks his head into the floor.

"I am in two minds about if the rope was a good idea or not," he says, after a pause. "But if we didn't have it, then you know one of us would already have fallen." 

"It was a good idea," Poe insists, somewhat breathlessly, hauling himself upwards. He has to trust most of his grip to his uninjured arm, and it's hell on his shoulder. Better than the alternative, though. "Without it, I'd probably be dead right now."

Higher. Higher. It hurts, but he's getting there.

"I wouldn't have dragged you off the wall, though." But Kylo is glad he's holding Poe up, right now. Even if he's digging into every last reserve of physical strength he has. At least the agony has brought his mind back to the present day.

"I… do wonder… what we're supposed to learn from this? Perhaps to bring a jetpack?" 

"Yeah, maybe we should do that next time. Or an X-Wing. I really would prefer one of those."

The upper ledge is within reach, now, though Poe has to take more weight on his injured arm in order to drag himself up onto it without risking falling. Or, risking falling anymore than he already is, at least. It hurts – and he's not quiet about that part – but eventually he's up, and turning immediately to drag Kylo up the rest of the way, too, not stopping until they are both fully on the ledge.

And then he lies flat on his back, staring up at the distant ceiling and trying very hard to recover from what he's just had to do. Which – even by his standards – was not fun.

"I'd rather not an X-Wing." The memory is still too fresh in Kylo's mind to be comfortable with it. "I'll get you a TIE-fighter instead." Less painful associations, really. 

He lets Poe drag him up, and he's just as exhausted by the brief climb as Poe is. His whole body aches, and the fear-adrenaline leaves his body shaking in its wake. For a long moment he simply lies, face-down, breathing.

Eventually he slides his hand over the stone, just to press the backs of his knuckles into Poe's side. 

That little contact makes the pilot jump, and he reaches a hand to brush against Kylo's. "We did it. We're all right," he says, softly. A reminder to them both. "But let's not do that again."

He knows they need to stand, need to keep going, but he gives the other man a moment. Still not wholly certain what happened to him back there.

Talking into the ground is not really a good way to hold a conversation, so Kylo turns his head to the side. "I'm beginning to second-guess the Jedi's test for in here. Our problem-solving is being stretched, but… not nearly enough. Unless it's simply a lip-service test, like a speederbike theory exam." 

He braces his hands under his shoulders and arches his back like a cat, trying to work out the tension. "And I do not know how reminding me of childhood trauma is appropriate at this point." 

"Is that…" Cautious. Careful. "...Is that what happened? You were flashing back to something?"

Poe knows he himself was. Not full-on childhood, but still pretty early in his life. He's been flying a long time. The memory seems distant again, now, and it was definitely less intense than whatever happened to Kylo. But he'd still rather it didn't happen again.

A slow, slow nod, head turned away. "I don't recall how… old I was. But I climbed up onto Uncle Luke's X-Wing. Or maybe it was Uncle Wedge's. I think I wanted to prove I could fly like they could. I…" Swallow. "I fell." 

_Luke Skywalker. Wedge Antilles._ The other man's past is a veritable minefield of living legends. But… this is not the time, Poe reminds himself.

"It frightened you." Soft. Understanding. "It… was it some kind of trick of the Force? Designed to hurt us?" Slowly, carefully, Poe sits up, though he doesn't scramble immediately to his feet. "And, if this test is not – as you say – what we thought it was… then what _is_ it?"

"...I was barely old enough to dress myself when it happened. I thought – at the time – that I was going to die." A reasonable fear for one so small. "Although I somehow managed to get up there in the first place, it was probably by misusing the Force and what my father affectionately termed 'doing a Skywalker'." Which was very unfair. He was always a Skywalker or an Organa if he ever did anything wrong, only ever a Solo when he somehow managed to please his father. 

"It is designed to play to our… weaknesses. To… to push us to breaking point. The Jedi used to send their own into caves of their own worst nightmares. A charming method of teaching, if you ask me." 

Damn Jedi.

"I don't know. I think we just aim at _surviving_ for now. And…" his eyes slide away, "...try not to let our… pasts consume us." 

Poe listens. Takes a deep breath. Nods, resolute. "Right. Yes. We keep going. We don't let this slow us down."

And we avoid anything that seems to involve worst nightmares. His own would be bad enough. He doesn't dare consider what the other man's would constitute.

Lithely, Kylo works his feet onto the floor, standing in a rather impressive movement that would normally be smoother, but from sheer physical strength and bodily conditioning alone is still rather dramatic. He takes a deep breath, then offers his hand to Poe.

"I think we're going to have to run and jump for a bit. I'm going to draw my lightsabre in case I need to use it to make a handgrip in future." 

Poe stares up – admiring the other man, just for a second – and then takes his hand, scrambling to his feet.

"Oh good," he says, very dryly. "Did I mention that I wasn't enjoying this?"

It's clear from his expression that it would take serious motivation to make him turn back, however.

"Well, if your droid hadn't decided to maroon you here, we could be having sex in the nice interrogation room instead of in the mud," Kylo replies, without any rancour. He turns to look at the path ahead, counting under his breath and plotting out a course. It doesn't quite work, and he frowns.

"I need you to climb on my back and work out the way forward." 

"If you hadn't threatened BB-8 in the first place, he wouldn't have marooned _either_ of us here. And we wouldn't be having sex in the nice interrogation room, you'd just be torturing me some more." A very telling beat. "And stop talking about torturing me when I'm trying not to die in the middle of a Jedi deathtrap!"

Pause. Breathe. _There's_ the adrenaline.

Sigh. "All right. If you think it best. Though please remember that, when I said I could fly anything, I didn't mean I could fly _you_."

"I like to think that your charming personality and innate love of torture would still have won me over." Related to Han Solo he might be, charming as him Kylo is not. "Please allow me to enjoy my fantasies."

With that he drops to one knee, arms out to let Poe climb up onto his back. "Try to work out the path of least resistance. I'm afraid this place is… destroying my natural sense of distance." 

"So long as I get to enjoy your fantasies, too. Later on. Right now…"

Poe does not like this idea. It's clear in his eyes. But… that doesn't mean it won't work. So, taking another deep breath, he moves in closer, climbing up onto the other man's back, settling into a position that is, if not comfortable, at least workable.

Kylo straightens up as much as he can, then grabs hold of Poe's thighs around his waist to give him a more stable base. His legs are braced, own knees very slightly flexed. "Can you see where we need to go?"

Because he has lots of things he'd like to do with Poe sitting on him, but this is not high up on the list. 

Once his position is stable, Poe scans the huge chamber as best he can. The added height gives him quite a boost – he is built like a _pilot_ , after all – and the improved vantage point definitely helps.

"All right, all right," he murmurs under his breath, thinking. "So… no, no, there's no way we're getting over that, and… OK… yes, then left, and… wait, seriously..?"

This place was clearly constructed by some sort of maniac.

"...Right. So we head up and over, towards that bit over there that juts out, and along to…"

Some more murmuring. Clearly part of his process.

"...Got it."

He hopes.

"If I let you down, will you remember the way, or should we write it out?" Kylo asks, wondering how on earth the man can think like that. Doesn't he confuse himself? 

"I'll remember. I'll still be having nightmares about this place weeks after we get out of it."

At least he sounds confident about that last part.

"So I should refrain from including mazes in our sex life, then?" The tall man lets go of Poe's legs, allowing him to slide down and back to his feet. "But torture chambers are fine? You are a very complicated man, Dameron." 

Now the lightsabre comes out, and Kylo offers his left hand. "If we jump, we're jumping together."

Despite it all, Poe grins. "You prefer me that way. Uncomplicated would bore you."

And he takes the other man's hand. "Absolutely. Preferably without any falling this time." There's no snark in his tone, though.

"Uncomplicated would be dead by now." Kylo won't sugar coat it, he's never had the patience to suffer fools gladly. Instead, he tugs Poe back to the edge so they can make a running jump at the next block.

This is going to take some time.


	9. Dark & Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you, dear readers, in which the boys discover more about where they really are...

"I would hate to think what species with shorter legs would do in here," Kylo complains as they get their balance after the latest leap of faith. Who designed this hell pit? Because he has quite a few things to say to them. A nagging worry that there's an _intelligent_ way out of this that he's entirely missing. 

He frowns, pushing his hair back and wondering how much more he can take of this. "That's the last one before the bridge, yes?" 

Poe pauses, catching his breath, running through the steps in his mind. "Yes. But we have to be careful with the bridge. I think some of the tiles may be pressure pads, and I'd rather not find out what they do."

And would it have killed the Jedi of old to install a few safety rails? He may be good with heights, but that doesn't mean he relishes the thought of falling from them.

Kylo nods, agreeing. It sounds like the sort of thing they'd have flung at them, next. 

"...I would suggest we throw things onto them, but that might lead to our sudden, fiery death anyway." Jedi assholes. "Perhaps this is when we sever the umbilical cord, in case we have to dodge left and right?" 

The rope between them is oddly soothing, but in this case it might prove problematic. Poe nods. "You're probably right. Let me…"

It is his turn, after all. He moves over to the other man, carefully untying the rope from his waist and hips (and if it means Poe has to spend a moment on his knees, hands on his lover, then he'll take that one for the team) before rising and stepping back, untying the rope from himself as well.

And then he carefully coils the rope up again, so he can tuck it into his pack once more. In case they need it. Later. For more Jedi tests, obviously.

Kylo indulges himself in a brief moment of stroking his hand through Poe's hair, the gesture just a quiet one of wanting contact, not trying to provoke anything more. They were lucky not to die in the last testing area, with all their… well. Mad, violent sex. He remembers it with a fond wince, and then turns to the platform ahead.

"Try to land off the path-section, in case they are pressure-switches."

This jump is less challenging, and Kylo holds a hand out to halt the other man. Before they move on, he grabs a handful of dust from the floor and blows it into the air, checking for any faint light-beams. None. His sabre cuts through before him, next, then he steps on the first square…

No flaming death yet. 

Poe moves slowly, watching the other man for cues. Not because he doesn't trust himself, or his instincts, but because he knows all of this is far more Kylo's world than it is his. He makes the first jump without difficulty, watching his footing as they move slowly along.

Everything is still silent.

"This… doesn't feel right," he says, softly.

"If you tell me you have a 'bad feeling', so help me…" Kylo grumbles, and toes at the next square. Still nothing. He frowns, and steps on it, almost daring the world to do something.

There's no markings, no etchings… is this some obscure game of Dejarik? Without pieces? Or a puzzle to step on in order? "We're missing something."

Poe _does_ have a bad feeling about this, but he's not going to say it. Not this time. "You're right," he agrees, instead. "It's all… too easy…"

Nothing when Kylo risks touching that tile. Nothing when Poe opts to try another. There are no indications of meaning on the rough-hewn squares and it's more than a little unsettling. "Maybe it's just designed to scare us."

"Are you having any board-game related flashback trauma?" Because even if Kylo can't remember having any, he's sure his subconscious is going to invent some. He tries jumping on the next tile, then the next, bouncing about like a slightly demented, black-clad womprat. 

Nothing.

"Perhaps we just… walk… to the end?" Where there's a closed door, which looks like it needs some opening. 

"Perhaps we do," Poe says, deciding that maybe the other man has a point. Sometimes… a bridge is just a bridge. Right?

He paces closer to the end of it. Closer, closer, and still nothing. Still nothing whatsoever.

And then the second both of them set foot on the ledge beyond, the ground opens up and just _drops_ them all of a sudden, into a downwards-facing chute that quickly swathes them in darkness, with no sign of what's to come.

Perfect. Except not.

Kylo lashes out with his sabre the minute everything changes, slashing madly at air and rock and getting nowhere fast. "POE!" he yells, trying to stop his descent in any way and then --

_\--splat--_

The water he lands in is vile and has him spluttering it out, his sabre glowing an angry red under the green, murky liquid. He spits and coughs some more, grabbing the hilt and using it to cast light on the inside of the chamber. 

Midway through the fall, something shifts in the blackness and, when Poe hits the ground – landing on his injured arm – the first thing he realises is that Kylo is no longer with him.

"Kylo? Kylo!" he calls out, trying to stagger to his feet, ignoring the way his arm feels.

The room he's in is small, and square, about twice his height and walled in more of that impassive, uncarved stone. And there is no visible way out of it.

A flicker of panic flares in his chest. " _Kylo?!_ "

Kylo can't hear him, he realises with growing fear. He can't hear him, and he – he needs him, and he -

...a distant feeling of distress and absence, a voice in his mind but not in his ears, calling his name. The Master of Ren closes his eyes, pulling his sabre before him and reaches out.

" _Poe… are you hurt? The Force is back._ "

Whoa, that's unsettling. Poe jumps – physically and mentally – as the other man's voice echoes in his head.

" _I'm all right,_ " he thinks, hoping this works both ways and Kylo can hear him. " _What about you? Where are you?_ "

Breathe. Breathe. He's OK. They're both OK.

" _I am in a… very disgusting chamber. There appears to be a path ahead. I do not know how to get to you,_ " comes the voice in Poe's head. Kylo starts to limp around, still using his sabre for a light source.

" _What can you see?_ "

" _I'm in an empty room. There's light coming in from a thin shaft above but that's all. And… there's no way out. I dropped in from above and it's too high up to get back to. There's no way out._ "

Another little flare of panic, brighter this time. It's not the enclosed space that bothers Poe – he's a pilot, he's used to it – but rather the being trapped. And separated.

Kylo huffs to himself, knowing Poe can't hear, and then turns off his blade. " _I'm going to try to work out what direction you are in,_ " he says. " _Try to… exist as… loudly as you can. Mentally. Focus on an emotion, and I'll use it as a compass_." That way he can hack his way through whatever stone lies between them. He's not going to let some blasted Jedi garbage chute steal his lover.

Especially not when his lover doesn't have the benefit of the Force, or a sabre. 

Poe isn't at all sure that the other man can cut through that much stone, but he's willing to give it a shot right now. He pauses in the centre of the room, and tries to come up with something to think about.

This is harder than he first expected. He knows Kylo is in his head, and that's still weird, and he feels more than a little exposed by the prospect, at a time when it really would not be right to enjoy it. His first thought is to focus on the memories of last night, but he quickly stamps that down, not wanting to get either of them distracted. Then he considers simply focusing on how he feels right now, but having the other man in his head has dulled the worry somewhat, and it isn't as strong as it was when it first flared.

So… he reverts to that old memory: _skimming the treetops of Yavin 4 in his A-Wing, the first time he flew alone. A twist, a turn, a loop – a whoop on the radio – the sense of absolute freedom and bliss, power without moral weight, escape without abandonment._

_**Liberation**_.

For a moment, Kylo forgets he's supposed to be using the memory to guide him, simply enjoying the flickers of a simpler time. Poe's a pilot in every way Kylo never could be, and he does envy him, somewhat. Still, he knows he'd envy his Force powers if the positions were reversed. Nothing is ever quite good enough, is it? 

He reaches out, his senses striving towards the Light he can see in his mind's eye, and… it's over… " _Found you._ " Nearer the exit. He walks through the water, sabre coming back out and bathing the room in red once more. When he gets to the edge, he can see light filtering in.

" _I assume there is no way to get to the shaft from where you are?_ "

" _No. Even with you to help me, it's too high. That thing is definitely meant to be one-way._ "

More's the pity. Poe stops looking up at it – because it doesn't help – and starts to pace slowly around the room, lightly running the fingertips of his good hand over the walls, searching for… something. Anything.

" _And the way in has since closed?_ " He has to ask, even though Poe's already told him. He's beginning to think they've found the test part, after all. " _I believe… I can see the end._ "

" _Closed and unreachable. There is no way out. I… Kylo, I'm trapped in here._ "

Panic flares again. Poe has gone round three of the four walls, and there's nothing. What are they supposed to do? What is _he_ supposed to do?

Kylo can. When he walks towards the light, he can see it in the distance: the door. A door. It must be the door. The way forwards. Kylo's filled with a sudden knowledge that he could walk right up to it, and it would open…

...his head turns back, a long silence. " _The Jedi way might well be to--_ " The Sith way, too. To focus on the goal. To learn that sacrifices needed to be made. To… Kylo tears his gaze away from the light, but with difficulty. " _I'm coming for you._ " 

He reaches out with the Force, slides between the stone, looking for an answer in mechanics and levers. He can't manipulate artificial intelligence, but he _can_ move objects. Something feels different, and he tries to spread his sense of self around it. It's big. Damn big. Damn heavy, too. He's pretty sure he's not moved anything this hefty since… well… since early in his training. He bites his lower lip and focuses his will, urging it to **move**.

'Leave me', Poe wants to think. 'Leave me and win this, and then come back for me afterwards'. But… he can't. The flickers of thought are there, and he knows the other man might be able to detect them, but they never quite actualise. They can't.

He doesn't want to be left behind. He'd sacrifice it all, if that's what it took, but not here. Not like this.

" _I'm here_ ," he thinks, instead. Filling with need, suddenly: not base, physical need, but something much deeper. Need for connection, for the man he craves, even for nothing more than a smile. A hand on his.

" _I'm here!_ " A little more frantic. Suddenly daring himself to believe that he can hear the distant shift of stonework. That he can sense some flicker of Kylo drawing closer: the one he needs.

_The one he loves_.

The emotion sparks in Poe's mind before he can stop it, not given full 'voice' per se, but… there. Bright. Undeniable. And much sooner than he intended to bring it up.

" _I'm coming,_ " Kylo rumbles in his mind, his voice a little strained from the effort he's clearly expending to move the block. He can feel the shrill sensation, pure and bright and beautiful, and Poe really _is_ beautiful in the Force. Clear of heart and spirit, kind and bright and all those things Kylo is not. It hurts a bit to think about him, hurts like a lightsabre to the gut. 

As the huge stone moves, he realises it's causing something else to move as well: the block pushes into the wall, and starts to block off the doorway.

He's closing himself in, moving the 'hole' away from his tunnel and into Poe's room. It can't be as simple as that, surely? Perhaps it is. He goes to stand between the two stone walls and pushes harder. The stone behind him grinds forwards, and he's suddenly between rock on all four sides.

And it isn't moving any further. 

" _Poe… what can you see?_ " He tries not to bleed the panic through into his tone, not to let it occur to the man that he's now managed to wall himself into a tiny, upright sarcophagus in his attempt to reach him. Now would not be a time to admit to such stupidity, or… danger. 

" _I can see movement! The wall to my right is shifting… it's… it's opening up, Kylo! Keep going! Keep going!_ "

He himself can't help – and that's maddening – but he can stand back, and urge the other man on. Calling out to him like a beacon of too-much-emotion, though maybe that's a good thing right now. Maybe it _does_ help.

" _Is it wide enough for you to get to the exit?_ " Kylo can't shove it any further towards Poe, the rock stubbornly set where it is. " _Can you get out?_ " 

Now that he knows – or at least thinks – that the wall isn't about to come hurtling towards him, Poe steps in closer. The rock is at an angle, and he can see better when he moves to the other side of it, where there is a gap leading into some kind of darkness beyond.

" _There's a gap. I'm going to try to get through it._ "

'Try' being the operative word. Even for a man as lithe as he is, there's still a limit. He pushes into the gap and starts attempting to slowly work his way through it. Doing so is not easy – and he has to push himself some of the way with his injured arm, which does not help it – but then all of a sudden he's more through than not and, with one final yank, he slips into the space beyond.

" _What can you see, now?_ " Kylo's doing his best not to go mad in this cell, his power flicking left and right in an attempt to persuade it to move. It doesn't seem to want to, and his heart is starting to hammer in response. 

But if Poe's through, that's good. Right? Yes. He wonders why he was dumb enough to get into this gap, thinking he'd be slid right into his pilot's arms. It was stupid, and now he's… what? Going to pay the price by suffocating to death in the dark? 

Within a few steps, Poe can see a shaft of light off to the left. It's distant, but real, and bright-white – daylight, as opposed to something artificial. It shimmers through the blackness, offering an obvious way out, an escape from all this confinement.

Light. Air. _Freedom_.

But… if this was the way out that Kylo implied he'd found… why isn't he here? Or… is this a different way entirely? Maybe… Kylo sacrificed his exit to let Poe out, instead.

Is that the test? Some sort of sacrifice? One or the other?

Defiance flares in the pilot's chest. He is having none of that. He glances back at the distant light, and then turns the other way and steps off, into the dark. Searching. For a door, for a moving panel, anything.

" _Poe… Poe?_ " Kylo's definitely panicking, now, and he tries his damndest not to. Poe's not answering, though his white-hot flare of self is still there. He slams harder into his mind, demanding attention. " _You need to get to the end._ "

There would be no point in them both getting trapped. " _Listen to me: it's the test. One of us has to do it._ " He's sure of that. " _Don't you dare get stuck again, I just got you out, you nerf-herding midget_." 

" _I am not leaving you behind, you overtall, black-clad maniac!_ " Poe throws back, half wanting to slap the other man and half wanting to kiss him. But mostly wanting to find him.

_Slam_. Dead end. Cold stone. Poe is too wound up to turn back now. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he throws himself against the wall, in the dark, and starts trying to push it. The Force be damned. He can do this through determination alone.

Kylo is about to yell back in his mind when he feels the thud, and a tiny movement. " **THAT IS NOT WHAT I TOLD YOU TO DO** ," he hollers, sure that Poe can hear him, now. He glares at the rock, and then throws himself at it, shoving it back the other way.

"Which of us is the one in charge in this relationship? Because I'm fairly sure _I_ give the orders around here!" 

"I don't _care_ what you told me to do!" Poe shouts back, also out loud now. Not really thinking about it, given that he's currently trying to push a very heavy rock that may or may not actually move. "If I leave you here then what kind of lover would I be?! Smack me around when I get you out of here if you must," – seriously, please, you must – "but I won't care because _**you'll be out of here!**_ "

And that's when, with a generous sense of dramatic timing, the rock slides aside all at once, and Poe nigh-on tumbles forward into the space beyond. The space that is currently occupied predominantly by a tall, vociferous proto-Sith.

Kylo suddenly has a Poe in his face. Very much in his face. Well, in his chest. And looking up at him, with his hands on Kylo's chest. He glares down at him, then grabs hold of his face and tugs the man up onto the balls of his feet to kiss him. He probably still tastes of the terrible swamp-water, but Poe deserves a little punishment.

"Sometimes I hate you," Kylo says, affectionately. "Do you really want to die in this idiotic temple?" Which they now seem to be sort-of-stuck in. There's a glimmer of light behind and to one side; not enough to get through, but a promise of more to come. 

Kissing. Kissing is so very good. Poe leans into it like a man who has spent too long trapped alone in an empty, doorless room. Because he is.

"I'd rather die with you in this idiotic temple than abandon you in it," he replies, when he can. Voice full of sudden fervour, fired up by the victory and the kissing and – let's be honest – the snarking too.

"You are a dangerous lunatic," Kylo says. Lovingly. Very. He noses and kisses his way up to his temple, and tries not to let the moment overtake him. There isn't very much room for that. "Do not change." 

There is barely enough room to move, though, and Kylo twists them around with a little difficulty. "I think it will work if we push, but… your legs are stronger, and my arms and the Force…" He cocks his head, then grabs Poe's legs and spreads them around his waist, planting them on the wall behind him. "Teamwork?" he suggests, bracing his hands on either side of Poe's head. That way Poe can kick the one behind, and he can push forwards, and maybe it's a little… ahem… close for comfort, but he really wants out of this damn hole. 

It's very close for comfort, and, if they weren't in so serious a situation, Poe would definitely have some fun with it. As it is, he stays focused on the task in hand (mostly) and concentrates on pushing the damn rock as hard as he can.

It is not easy. It is, however, easi _er_ than using his injured arm, which means he can put more – aha – force behind it.

"It's moving," Poe murmurs, sure he can feel it about to go, just like before. It's almost as though these rocks are designed to resist up until the very last moment. "Keep going, keep going, I think…"

Which would be when – just like before – the rock slides out of the way all at once. The laws of momentum alone mean that both men immediately go tumbling to the ground, still half-locked together as they are, with Poe on his back and Kylo on top of him. And… from a distance beyond them, but visible now, that shaft of bright-white day cuts the blackness.

Poe drops back, relieved, and grins. "That was bracing."

"You seem to end up in this position frequently," Kylo says, and he sounds… happy? Amused? He's in no rush to move, even though they probably should. "And I am beginning to rethink the whole purpose of this death-trap."

Maybe it's a Sith version of speed dating.

The Darksider gives one slow, lazy rock on top of his lover, then jumps to his feet. With the Force augmenting things, it's easier to move. He holds a hand out, ready to tug Poe to his feet. "Now the question is: do we have to fight another Rancor, or did we do enough?"

Taking the other man's hand – with his good arm – Poe scrambles up. "I like being in that position frequently," he points out, with far too much ease. "And I think you're right. I'm no Force-user, but this place really doesn't seem like it was built by a Jedi, even as a Sith-trap. It's needlessly cruel. And… I get the sense that it's making some sort of point. Hopefully not a point involving any more Rancors."

He turns, looking down the dark passageway towards the light at the far end. "We should see what's along there. Carefully."

"Possibly whilst armed. If we get back whilst it's still light, we could even eat before we… turn in for the night." That would be nice. The scraped meal and tiny snacks earlier really were not enough to feed a busy Sith-in-training. 

A crackle, a glow, and Kylo cocks his head towards the light. As they reach it, he can see some writing. This time it's nowhere near as much work.

"Oh for the love of…" Why didn't he figure it out sooner? "Up there. It says: _Through passion, I gain strength_. It is the Code of the Sith." And here he was, trying to Jedi his way through. Must be his Skywalker side showing, again, instead of the Vader. 

"...This is a _Sith_ temple?" Poe replies. Somehow, even despite what he's said, he's surprised by that. Well. Partly surprised, at least. "That explains a lot. But… why would Skywalker's false map bring us here?"

Maybe it's just taking advantage of an opportunity. Of this place existing and being abandoned and therefore being available. Or… maybe it's something else. The space they've stepped into, at the end of the dark corridor, is high and wide. It's walled on all four sides, but more openly, with gaps that allow some of the jungle – and a lot of the sunlight – to spill in. And it's…

...quiet. Too quiet.

"The two orders… sprang from similar roots. It is… possible that the map was created to divert people to one of two places, depending on their temperament." It's just speculation on Kylo's part. "But it does mean we'll have more of a chance of passing the tests. There'll be a lot more pain and suffering, but a lot less stuffy meditation and not caring about things."

Head to one side, hair falling around his face, he reels off the words by heart:

" _Peace is a lie, there is only passion;_  
 _Through passion, I gain strength;_  
 _Through strength, I gain power;_  
 _Through power, I gain victory;_  
 _Through victory, my chains are broken;_  
 _The Force shall free me._ "

Poe listens, somewhat lost in the sound of the other man's voice, and of the words he's speaking, known by rote but clearly more than that. These are words that _mean_ something to him.

And they're not what Poe might have expected. He knows little of the ways of the Sith, beyond what _everyone_ knows, and he's starting to suspect there's a lot more to it than that. The Code is strong, yes, and forthright, but it isn't _dark_ , per se. More… _focused_.

"That one, you believe," he says, softly. An acknowledgement, first and foremost.

"I do." Kylo's watching Poe's face, and his expression is complicated. "And I suspect you must, too. For the majority of this… training course… we are equals in the eyes of the Force. I suspect we will both need to pass each test in order to move to the next."

In order to stay alive, though he doesn't say that. "It would explain why we were being tested physically and… mentally in the maze. And our… resolve towards our true goals." It helps that he _has_ one, now, or the start of one. One that's his, and not the shadows of another man's hands on his soul. 

"So… we have to know what we want?" Poe says. "And how far we would go to get it?"

That's closer to his limited understanding of what the Sith were. _Are_. He can see how it would lead to the kinds of acts Sith Lords are classically known for, but also… how it could lead to something rather more complex.

"I–"

But before he can get another word out, there's a harsh, animalistic shrieking from up above, and something fast and winged bursts through a gap in the stonework, hurtling at them. Precisely what it is, Poe has no idea, although the winged thing does appear to have six legs, which makes him wonder if it might be related to that creature which attacked them yesterday. Right before he…

...OK, Dameron, focus.

" _Look out!_ " he shouts, the second the thing goes for them, immediately drawing his blaster and opening fire.

Kylo thankfully still has his Force powers, so when the thing tucks its wings in for a dive, squawking loudly at the blaster-fire scorching its sides, he can propel it back with a _thud_ into the nearest wall. 

It isn't as easy as that, though. Where there's one flying bat-monkey-monster-beast there's five hundred. Or close enough, he doesn't stop to check. The sky is filled with leathery, beating wings, sharp, grasping claws and awful, wauling sounds. Kylo tries to repel them first, but the sheer number of them threatens to drown him. 

Instinct makes him turn so he's back to back with Poe, his lightsabre describing intricate patterns that would be beautiful to watch if he wasn't, in fact, fighting for his life. "I'm beginning to think the Sith don't like me very much, either," he snarks, narrowly ducking something removing an eye. He finds it's easier to anticipate Poe's shots than it is to read the flocking beasts, and he moves his weapon around it, giving them a small bubble of safety. Pecks and scratches get through, but he's cutting through the swarm beast by beast. 

"I – am not – enjoying this!" Poe shouts, in between making shot after shot. He's good at it, though, and his aim is impressive, even despite the horrible _things_ that keep going for them. But that doesn't make it much better, considering the swathe of winged hellbeasts that simply will not leave them alone.

Vivid red bolts lance through the air, and most strike true, downing another creature with a squawk or a hiss. Midway through, Poe shifts position a little – keeping Kylo at his back – so he can see the point the creatures first came in through.

Maybe it's their nest. Maybe they won't be happy if he threatens it. Changing aim, he shoots several blaster bolts up at the gash in the temple wall, and the effect is immediate. The creatures become more agitated, more aggressive, but also less cohesive, as if their swarm mentality is being affected.

"Keep doing whatever you are doing," Kylo insists, his hands struggling to keep their grip with how fast he's moving his blade through the air. "I will cover you as much as possible." He doesn't have enough respite from his whirling, energy-blade safety bubble to do anything but react right now. 

"And believe me: if we ever get to meet the makers of this place, I will be giving them several pieces of my mind. To go with the many pieces they'll be reduced to. By me." 

"I'll second that!" Poe agrees, in between volleys of blaster fire. He has to keep switching between moving targets and the larger, fixed one, but gradually, it's working.

And then, all of a sudden, one of the bolts strikes an otherwise unobtrusive part of the wall, just above the broken gash, and something seems to crackle inside. The effect is startling, and rapid, and within a few seconds the surviving winged creatures are scrambling to retreat, swarming their way back into the hole just as fast as they emerged.

Silence. _Silence_. It is unsettling. Poe does not lower his blaster. Or, indeed, breathe.

Kylo's blade still hovers overhead, his arms raised ready to strike. He aches. He aches all over, and… "The Force is gone again. I assume that means… it's over." He switches the weapon off, snapping it back onto his belt. 

It's very strange, the aftermath. From fighting for your life to just… He doesn't turn, not straight away. And then he does, and there's something in his expression. "Shall we?" 

"...That might be wise," Poe agrees, lowering the weapon, though not yet holstering it. "Let's just hope there's a quicker way back. If we have to do that chamber with all the jumping again…"

Then he catches the look in the other man's eyes, finding himself more affected by it than he might have predicted. He finally re-holsters his blaster, letting go of it – with a flicker of reluctance – and stepping in closer.

Not pushing. Not presuming. Just… caring. "Are you all right?"

There's a pause, for a moment. "Perhaps not." Kylo's jaw tenses, throat working to swallow. "But I think I might be able to be." This place… "Back… at the camp?" 

He's clearly mulling things over, but he doesn't want to risk another round of monsters. The light ahead could be a direct path, and he hopes to the stars it is. He's tired, suddenly. Tired and he just wants to rest. 

This is not what Poe expected, though he doesn't push the matter. "All right," he says. "Come on."

And off they go, heading – for want of a better term – towards the light.


	10. Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, you wonderful, wonderful people. We're back!
> 
> Here's another chapter for you. We think you'll enjoy this one... ;-)

Mercifully, the walk back – through a narrow jungle path along the outside of this particular stretch of the vast temple – is an uneventful one. Both men remain alert, and careful, but nothing jumps them and there are no more traps or tests to block their way.

The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky as they finally see a somewhat crumbling arch up ahead: one that has opened up, allowing them to walk back into the vast central amphitheatre where the crashed escape pod still sits.

Making it here in one piece is quite a relief.

BB-8 rushes over to greet them, doing several circuits around and between the two men, beeping and booping greetings, questions, concern. The droid rocks back and forth, looking at them for answers.

"I told you I would bring him back safely," Kylo tells it. 

He glances to Poe. "Please make a fire. I will be back shortly." Shortly, carrying fresh water and fruit from the oasis which has predictably opened up again. He feels strangely distant from everything, but distant in a way that's not unpleasant. As though there's something just out of reach, whispering and calling to him. Maybe a few minutes alone will help, he thinks to himself. 

The instruction – albeit with the added 'please' – takes Poe a little by surprise, but he can tell that something is going on in the other man's head, and opts to trust that Kylo will share when he's ready.

"All right," he agrees, with a nod, looking immediately for the best source of kindling. There's a collection of foliage and vines hanging down against the now-closed arch they took yesterday, with deeper, woodier trees behind, and that looks very workable. Poe glances down at BB-8, then headtilts in the direction he's thinking of, and the droid gives an affirmative bleep and follows at his heels as he heads over to collect as much firewood as he can.

There's a certain sense of freedom in tasks you know inside out. Kylo grabs fruits, water, and then finds the right ration packs to supplement the meal he's planning. He knows, on some level, that he's throwing himself into this to avoid other things… but it's more than that. It's a chance to let his mind work through problems as his hands are kept busy. 

As he works, there's no malevolence or malice to his actions, he's simply doing with his body whilst the higher parts of him work somewhere else inside his head. When Poe brings the wood back, he flicks out his blade. Not the intended use, but with very careful application of one of the exhaust vents of his sabre he manages to set the kindling on fire. 

It's a little disconcerting to see a Darksider making domestic arrangements, but even a Sith had to eat some time. He grabs two bundled up blankets and puts them down as seats, close but not too close, and starts to cook. 

Once the fire is made, and lit, Poe sits back. BB-8 trundles in next to him, and he turns to the droid, whispering something that has the little astro bleeping softly, before slowly retreating again, leaving the two of them alone.

A pause. Watching. Cautious. "…Kylo? What is it?"

He can ask now, surely?

Kylo's hands continue to work for a moment before he looks up. When he does, it's clear he's still mulling things over. "I was… thinking about what you said. Earlier." A flicker of tongue, and then a swallow. "About how far we would go, to get what we wanted." 

And what we wanted to begin with. 

"This place… it is designed to teach lessons. To… test our resolve, our ability, and our… will." 

"That's how it seems, now that we've explored a little more of it," Poe agrees, thoughtfully. Keeping his eyes on the other man, to ensure he doesn't miss anything, however subtle. "But… why, precisely? If it was built by one of the Sith of Old… what is its full purpose?"

"Quite possibly to weed out the weak. To ensure only the truly devout, strong and sure would survive." After all, the Sith did believe in the Dead Man's Shoes version of promotion. Or they did by the time of the Emperor, and his grandfather. 

Kylo stirs at the food, then dishes some out into two bowls for them. "Passion, strength, power, victory… freedom." Simplified, to some extent, but still the Code. "It is… not how Snoke trained me." Nothing like. 

Poe takes his bowl with a nod of thanks, finding a spoon in the pack nearby and starting to eat. The other man's words surprise him a little, and he looks thoughtful. "It isn't? But… isn't it the way of the Dark Side?"

He doesn't know enough about all of this to simply understand it, but – even as he speaks – he's starting to realise that Darksiders and Sith are not, in fact, entirely the same thing.

"He does not use the title 'Darth'." It's bothered Kylo for a while, now. Bothered him in ways he couldn't put into words. "And neither do I. He…" The man doesn't eat, but he does stir at his meal, his hands moving automatically. "He… teaches… through pain, fear and anger. Strong emotions. Strong… effects. He… would not let me advance my training any further."

His feet itch. Why do his feet itch? 

"They are strong emotions, it is true. But they are not the only strong emotions. And I--" His eyes flicker up to Poe's face, now, "…have… wavered." It's a difficult admission to make, but he feels he should. "He sensed it, in me. A weakness. A pull back… back, he said, to the Light." 

"He's trying to hold you back," Poe says, carefully. Not trying to be provocative, exactly, but… honest, nonetheless. As he sees it, at least. "He's afraid of what you're capable of. Afraid that… you're not all Dark."

A pause. Still measured. Not wanting to overstep in a world that is not his own. "Light does not automatically mean Jedi, just as Dark does not automatically mean Sith. Right? So… maybe it's more complicated than people think. Or… more complicated than they will let on."

"It is in his best interests to keep me from progressing too far, yes." Kylo's known this for a while, of course, but the full depth of his treachery is starting to dawn on him. "And…" His mind is clearly catching on tracks, on grooves long worn in, trying to break out of them. "Darth Vader… Anakin Skywalker… whatever name you use of him. He did not fall for… he did not wish to rule the galaxy, as the Emperor did. He…"

Fell in love. 

"It is more complex." Kylo nods, and scratches at the bottom of the bowl with his utility spork. "I believed there were only two paths: Luke's, or Snoke's. I knew I would fail my uncle. I knew I would be unable to resist the call away from peace. But… why? Why would… why would the Jedi destroy the Sith, if the Sith were not always evil?"

That bit he can't understand. It's a world of either-or, on-off, yes-no. He's been brought up surrounded by polarising views, and never had space for the invisible, third option. 

"Maybe because… sometimes the Sith _were_ evil," Poe muses. "And sometimes was enough. Maybe the Jedi just felt the risk was too great. After all… there _is_ rather a lot of scope for misuse of power." There's a slightly pointed edge to his tone at this, but only slightly, and he doesn't mean it as anything other than an observation.

He looks down. "If you tell people they have to make a choice, they come to believe there's only two options. But… that is almost never the case. Real life is rarely so clear-cut."

Sometimes it isn't just do or die. Sometimes… you don't do, and you don't die.

_Pull up. Pull up._

"And those like me – those who… have no choice but to stray? They push us. They push us until we snap. I have done terrible things. Terrible. You know almost as well as I do. But they have committed atrocities of our own. _War_. That's what this has become. They made this war, and…"

Kylo grits his teeth, hands clenching tight. The anger is there, but it's less over-powering, now. It's still as fierce and as bright, but he feels less of an urge to **lash out** and to **destroy**. Perhaps it is helping. "I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being told I either cut out my heart, or cut out someone else's. I want my heart to stay where it is, and tell me what the right thing to do is. I _hated_ the Starkiller project. I knew it was wrong. But what could I do? I could either go with Snoke, or…" or what?

"Or this," Poe says, softly. Unafraid, now, even though he knows how close to the edge this conversation is moving. "You said it yourself: you don't want either option. Not Snoke. Not Skywalker. So… break the dichotomy. Choose your own way."

A gentle sigh, as he sets his empty bowl down, staring into the fire. "Maybe you don't realise how much you've changed over the last couple of days. Or… maybe it's just that you were this way all along, underneath what Snoke did to you. What…" It's hard to say. Hard to see the galactic saviour as anything other than perfect and right. "…What Skywalker did to you."

The words burn. Poe doesn't believe Luke Skywalker is a bad person. Not at all. But… even heroes make mistakes. And the more he comes to understand of Light and Dark, Jedi and Sith, the more he thinks that maybe things really _aren't_ clear-cut at all.

"Luke… thought he was doing the right thing." He's always known that, and it's what's made this whole situation so much worse. It's difficult to hate someone justifiably when they care about you, when they love you, but they hurt you all the same. "He just didn't know how to teach me, or to protect me. Snoke was already in my head by the time I reached the temple." 

He remembers those days, vividly. The two voices arguing over him, without ever talking to one another. Hammered by precepts and promises and threats and offers. He remembers covering his head at night to try to block them out, begging the med-droid for something to help him sleep without dreams. 

Kylo reaches out, trying to catch Poe's hand. He puts the bowl down, and then pulls his pilot to sit sideways on his lap. He keeps that hand on Poe's, the other snaking around his waist. "I didn't know what I wanted before I came here. I had no idea who, or what I was. I had no purpose, no goal. If I'd died, it would have been for nothing." 

Poe curls in closer, wanting to offer comfort without overstepping. But the invitation is enough to make him press in, resting a hand on Kylo's shoulder, watching his eyes more intently.

"What do you want?" he asks. "Not because you were told you should – or shouldn't – but because you actually _want_ it. In an ideal world… how would things be?"

"No more Snoke. No more Starkiller. No more killing." Kylo knows those for certain. "You. For as long as you will have me. Doing… doing what I think I should. Perhaps with a little more gusto and emotional involvement than my uncle is comfortable, with, but…" He shrugs. "Han would always say there was too much of Vader in me, but I think there's too much of a lot of things in me, and not all of them are Vader." 

His eyes scrutinise Poe's, looking for some flinch, some break, some indication that this is just the deathtrap talking, or a modified survival instinct. He was too busy trying to get to him before – during the test – to think about trailing through his mind in search of emotional reassurance. 'Normal' people don't get that kind of reassurance, but 'normal' people also don't have a long, bloody trail of murders hanging from their cloak-tails. 

"I want you, Poe. And I thought perhaps my second-guessing, my… I worried that my change of course was solely to impress you, to make me worthy of you, but I…" Swallow. Keep going. "I have been very unhappy with who I am for a very, very long time. And I did not dare stop running. I thought if I could run hard and fast enough, that the shadows of Ben Organa-Solo would stop chasing me." 

Slowly, gently, Poe puts a hand on the side of Kylo's face. "Your change of course wasn't to impress me," he says. "You had me caught long before that. You just… needed something to push you over the line. Make you see what was there all along. What…" …look down, look up. All in the eyes. "…What I saw from pretty much the start."

Perhaps it's why he kept pushing, back when he was still a prisoner. Back when they were – technically – enemies. Perhaps, even though he wasn't consciously considering it, he knew that all was not right in the other man's head.

Sometimes you don't need the Force. You just need to look.

"You are a better man than I deserve." It's true. Kylo doesn't deserve Poe, but somehow Poe thinks he's acceptable, and it's a minor miracle. The tantruming rage of before isn't there, in the moment. He can talk about this, about his guilt and his pain and his shame without trying to deforest the oasis, or rip the escape pod apart rivet by rivet. He wonders if he's learning what he's supposed to learn, or if it even matters so long as he learns something. 

A warm hand lies soft – fingertips only – on Poe's cheek. The touch gentle, tender. "I want you." Eyes that struggle to focus, to keep from looking away, the action one of vulnerability as much as strength. "I want you. I don't mean your body. I want _you_." He's not sure if he's wording it well enough, but he's trying to get his point across, clumsy as he is. 

"You're beautiful, Poe. Inside. You're like the sun. I want to own you, and I want to hold you. I want to hurt you so you call out my name in bliss. I want to protect you, so you know you're safe to fall apart in my arms. I want to keep you all to myself, and give you everything that makes you happy. I want to make sure you're safe, and free, and I'd have left myself in that trap back there if it was the only way to get you out. I know what I want, now. I know what I _need_. I'm only afraid I'll do something you can't forgive in order to keep you safe from harm."

Because Kylo Ren would likely burn up whole stars just for this man, even if Poe didn't want him to. "I'll do it. Whatever I have to, to keep you safe. So you have to keep out of the line of fire, so I don't destroy the world to keep you out of harm's way." 

The words are almost more than Poe can bear, and he curls in very close, resting his head on the other man's shoulder, face pressed into the crook of his neck. He's had relationships before – plenty of them; good ones, short ones, well-meaning ones – but no one has ever made him feel quite like this. Or anything close. Maybe it's why nothing else lasted, whilst this seems so right even after no more than a couple of days and a great deal of shouting.

"I want you too," he whispers, heartfelt. Vulnerable. But… not afraid. "I think I wanted you from the very start. Even when…" He can't say it. For once. He can't. "…You know. Before. And now… I am so certain, it terrifies me, because it re-writes my whole world. _You_ re-write my whole world. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Pause. Breathe. "My life is dangerous. So is yours. I don't think we can avoid that. Just… know that nothing will ever keep me away from you. Not for long."

Kylo grinds his teeth, forcing the words out. "You say that now, but my sense of right and wrong is… not so much flawed, as… I value some things higher than the ideal of justice. And at some point it's going to get in our way. I'll value you more than I do something – someone – else. And then you might remember that I'm a monster, and I'll…" be alone. 

He drops his chin on Poe's head, wrapping long arms around him from all sides. "Skywalkers – we… do stupid things for love. One day I'll love you so much that I break your heart. I'll do something that's too much. I'll make decisions you wish I didn't. And then… and then you'll either hate me, or you will wish you did." 

This is not how he wanted to tell him, but it's probably about par for the damn course. "Just promise me you'll forgive me when it happens. I won't be able to stop myself; you mean too much to me already, so much I'd slaughter every last Stormtrooper under Snoke's command, and offer you their heads. Now do you see? Do you see why they sent me away? I'm not good, not good at all." And Poe, in his mind, is. 

But Kylo knows himself, knows what he'd do, and he's sure it won't change. No matter how far away from Snoke and his cursed fleet he gets, the person underneath it all is one of failed judgement and too-strong heart. 

"I'll pull you back," Poe insists, softly, and somehow still fiercely. "I'll pull you back no matter what. So long as there is air in my lungs, I will." Arms tightening around the other man. Evidently this is what it means to love a Sith Lord.

There's that word again.

"You might not be truly good, but you're not truly bad, either. You just _are_. I wonder if that's the point of all this. To stop judging everything by extremes." It would help, surely. Since the galaxy insisted on dividing itself in two along every line it could find, nothing has been right. Not really.

A pause. A breath. And then, determined, Poe lifts his head to meet the other man's eyes. "I'm not perfect either. I haven't been through what you've been through and I know I can't ever speak as though I have, but… I've killed plenty of people. You know that. I've shot them out of the sky. Blasted them off their feet. I didn't do it for fun, but I did _do it_ , and I can tell you for a fact that I _would_ do it again. Life isn't black and white. It's grey and it's messy and sometimes you just have to do your best and hope it works out in the end."

"You're a wiser man than I ever will be, Poe Dameron. You… you know that, don't you?" Kylo's eyes are older, when he says that. Older and more knowing, more… level. "You save me just by existing. Whatever good I do in this life, it will be because you were there to pull me back from the brink."

He can do it, can't he? Just do his best. Try not to lose his soul. Try to do the greatest good, the thing that feels most important deep down inside. Just because he happens to value Poe so highly, it doesn't mean it has to be a problem, right? He's never going to slaughter orphanages full of children as a love-gift. For one, it wouldn't work.

The fingers slide, slightly, finding the curve of Poe's cheekbone, finding the line of his jaw. He traces over them, memorising the bone and muscle and the soft tension of his skin. "I want… I want… to make love to you. Truly. I want to show you how much you mean to me. Not just… not just the screaming pain, but I love that, too. I want… I love you, Poe. And I need to show you just how much." 

And at those words… Poe's whole world just _stops_. For a moment that feels like an aeon in his head – but is actually nothing more than a fleeting second – he stares at the other man, terrified that he doesn't know what to say. That these words he's been wrestling with are suddenly here and real and inescapable and that he won't ever be able to respond in the way he should.

And then the fleeting second passes, and his response just slips out, easy and sure, like it has a life of its own. Like there's no question about it. Because there isn't. "I love you too. You let me want things I never even knew I could have. The day you took me prisoner was the day you set me free."

He leans in closer, resting his head against the side of Kylo's, lips near lips. Proximity without pushing. Breathing in the sense of him. _Needing_ , in a way too strong to quantify, too real to deny. And too intense to ignore.

"I will give them all to you," Kylo promises, his words a mixture of ragged and controlled; somewhere in the middle, somewhere both are possible at once. "Anything you desire, no matter how harsh, how cruel. I will offer you my **darkness** in my words and in my actions." 

The very softest of kisses, a sealing of a pact at the corner of his mouth. "I will set my course by your light, make your heart my port and dock." From his face, fingers moving into his hair. He combs them through the sweat-mussed curls, then clutches at them. A sharp, stinging pain and he follows on the heels of the tiny gasp with his tongue, pushing inside and taking his mouth like it was meant to; with pain, and with love. He wants him so very, very badly that the world could be on fire right now and Kylo would just snap at them to put it out. He needs him, needs this… and he needs it more than he even has the words or thoughts to express. 

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps, at the fingers in his hair, the contact sending a rush of sensation and longing chasing through him like electricity. It's such a simple action and yet it fills him with a craving that makes the whole world seem insignificant in comparison. And then Kylo is kissing him, hard and deep, the way he _really_ likes it, and he moans against the other man's lips, unashamed and appreciative.

"More," he murmurs, already sounding a little punch-drunk, as the kiss finally breaks. Lack of oxygen will do that to a man, especially if he gets off on it. "Please. I need you."

"Soon," Kylo promises, pulling back to gaze at his handiwork. Poe's dark-shot eyes and swollen lips the most beautiful thing in the world to look at. Although perhaps more still later, when he's in that far off place he goes to. It's a tough call.

"Put your hands on my shoulders, and let me strip you bare. I'm going to claim every inch of you as mine, going to brand my name over your skin so every time you breathe you feel my hands holding you tightly." He lets go of Poe's hair, so the absence of pain will hurt as much as the presence. One arm is wrapped around his waist, keeping him in place, and the fingers spider-walk down over his face, stroking firmly into the soft space under his jaw and to his throat. The pressure is enough to sting, and then he's flicking open a button at a time, baring his neck and collarbones. He skates his fingers over newly-offered skin, rumbling in low approval.

He really is beautiful. Beautiful and his. Kylo scratches his fingernails either side of the jutting bone leading to Poe's clavicle, then goes back to unbuttoning his way down his body. He makes sure the backs of his knuckles touch skin, needing the contact so badly. "I'm not going to fuck you until you can't live without it. I'm not going to slide into you until your world will end without me. And when I do fuck you, I'm going to push into you so hard that you feel me inside for days, after. I'm going to make you never want anyone else, ever again. I'm going to make you **mine** for **_good_**."

"I already can't live without it," Poe whispers – not out of defiance or demand, not trying to push or manipulate, but simply because it is true. He craves the other man's touch like nothing he's ever known before, and his world is defined by it now. And it should terrify him, but it doesn't, because even though everything is upside down and inverted and never going to be the same again, he still knows this is how it's meant to be. This is what he's been looking for but never finding, chasing here, there and everywhere.

And in the end… it found him. Kylo found him. And that thought alone is breathlessly wonderful.

Poe drops his head back a little, baring his throat – and his chest – all the more. Letting the other man do whatever he wants, and revelling in the way it feels. In the brush of skin on skin, the dull sting of fingernails, the sense of being stripped again. He's been naked around the other man several times in the last day, but there's a difference between being naked and being _stripped_.

"Please," he murmurs. "I'm yours. All yours. Only yours."

This time around Kylo knows the most sensitive spots, knows that his fingers can ghost over the dusky nipples rising to greet him and get the most delicious of responses. Knows he can pinch and tug, scratch broad claw-marks over, and have Poe melt in his lap. Right now it isn't even about his own dick – maybe not even about Poe's – but this whole-body affair. Poe is more than just his pretty face, his tight ass and his full cock. Poe is all of that, plus so much more. Kylo pushes the shirt down over his shoulders, letting it tumble back and hang from halfway down his arms. 

He watches the way his chest flexes around the air, how it heaves in broken breaths and tenses so right under his dancing touches. He puts his palm flat on his stomach, then glides it down and between his legs, before dragging back up again. Poe flexes and arches for him, and he repeats it, with a little more force. 

"My beautiful, strong little fighter," Kylo purrs, appreciatively. He grabs his groin through the heavy fabric of his pants, and then kneads and plays with the soft spaces of his inner thighs through the material. "So ready to give, so desperate to have someone take. It's all right, Poe. I have you, you're safe. You don't need to fight, you don't need to do anything but give in. Just let yourself feel, and know I'll never harm you."

Now his fingers work at Poe's fly and belt, peeling the layers open and slipping warm digits below. He lets the palm of his hand slide over bare, hot skin and then his nails scratch sharp lines as high up on his thighs as he dares. "You're mine, and I love you. I love you more than the Force itself, and I'm going to scream it to the galaxy just as soon as I am able." Back to his cock, back to those tight, unforgiving tugs. His hand twists half-way between root and tip, thumb sliding over his cockhead to swipe the bead of precum free.

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps, appreciation and approval all wrapped up in one neat little word. Every inch of him feels hypersensitive, now, craving Kylo's touch like a drowning man craves oxygen. Like he _needs_ it to _live_. His mind is hazy already, but it's different to before. Push him hard enough, and he goes _under_ … whatever that means. He's still learning, after all. But this current approach, this gentler force, leaves him caught between the two: between the soft embrace of submission and the firmer grip of his more usual self.

But he likes this too. This way, he can enjoy the contact, the sensation, the experience of being _owned_ , but he can stay in the moment as well.

He meets the other man's eyes, strength and surrender merging in his own. "I love you." Those words again. Clear. Certain. "I need you. I _want_ you."

"You **have** me," Kylo insists, his expression… downright adoring. This strong, wilful man offering himself up is like the purest nectar, the sweetest honey. His hand keeps moving, keeps stroking him with deliberate care and attention. He listens to the changing in Poe's breathing, watches the lashes flutter over his cheeks, and he knows he could own him forever without once needing the Force again.

Although, if he can have both, he'll take both.

"I want you to ride me," Kylo tells him. "I'm going to reach over for some lubricant, and then I want you to put your arm around my shoulders and fuck yourself open on your fingers. I want you to get yourself ready, and then I want to watch your face as I lift you up and down on my cock. You don't come until I say so. Do you understand?" 

" _Fuckyes_ ," the pilot murmurs, the space between the words vanishing at how good that idea sounds. "Please. Anything."

'Anything' is a dangerous word to say to a man who took you prisoner and tortured you mere days ago, so the ease with which Poe gives that word voice speaks volumes all on its own. 'Anything' is a dangerous word and, therefore, a trusting word.

Perhaps the most trusting.

He waits for Kylo to get hold of their makeshift lubricant – which is pretty effective, all things considered (thank the Force) – and then slicks three fingers with it (two wouldn't be enough, four would require more time than he thinks the other man will give him). And then, bracing his knees more firmly either side of his lover, he lifts himself up with one arm around Kylo's shoulders, and then (slowly, slowly, make it good, make it something worth watching) he pushes two fingers into himself.

"All for you. All for you."

"You are the most precious thing I own," Kylo murmurs, his voice reverent and low. "I would destroy the stars if it was the only way to keep you in my arms." 

Once, the thought might have made him baulk. Then, still later, it would have made him fear it would drive him away. Now… now he knows Poe _understands_. More than that, he approves. He knows who Kylo is, better even than the dark presence of Snoke that's been inside his head since he can even remember existing. Poe knows who he is – good and bad, Light and Dark – and loves him all the same. 

He doesn't need to watch the muscles of Poe's arm flex to imagine those digits pushing inside of his hole. It's probably a good job that Poe is already used to the receiving position, or he'd be walking bow-legged and whimpering every morning. Every. Morning. Kylo curls a finger and thumb under his chin, eyes never leaving his as he works himself open and ready. He lets the other hand gently stroke at his temple, rubbing at the skin below his hair. 

"I need you. I need your strength. I need your clarity. I need to hurt you, and know it brings you joy. You give me purpose, Poe Dameron. You give me reason. You take my anger, my pain, my hate, and you turn it into love." A soft smile, a softer kiss, and the fingers go around to the back of his head. He pulls Poe in so their foreheads touch – like that first time, so long ago and yet barely any time at all. "Use me, as I use you. For you might belong to me, but a Master is nothing without his most prized possession." 

The third finger goes in, eliciting a little hiss and a gasp from Poe, which also serves to hide some of his reaction to the other man's words. It's… almost too much, too overwhelming, and at the same time that makes it all the more wonderful. No one has ever loved him like this before. No one ever will again. And that's… a very, very big realisation to make.

"Please," he says, softly. Not desperate, not yet, but close. "I need you. You… sharpen my world. Make me see beyond the crosshairs. I never thought I could _need_ so much until you laid hands on me."

He's close to outright begging for more. For the other man's cock, for his touch, for his cruelty, for his mercy. Close… but not quite.

The taller man moves, just slightly, moves so he can kiss him. He doesn't respond with anything but the languid, heated lap of his tongue into his mouth. He licks out unspoken words and promises, and then he starts to stroke him again. He drags his fingers around, tightening his grasp near the cockhead, then forcing it all the way down to slap against his balls. He's still fully dressed, himself, and he decides he quite likes that. The sensation of a half-naked man on his own clothed form. 

Kylo hadn't ever felt enough of an urge to act on it before. He wonders if he even _could_ have, or if his soul knew it was waiting for the right person. He couldn't imagine even thinking half-lustfully about someone else, now. He wonders if Poe will ever grow tired of riding his cock, and he hopes not. Oh, he hopes not.

"Stay with me, this time. I love to see you go to that other place, but I want to keep you here, now. I need you to hear it when I tell you that I love you. I need you to know that every last, broken breath is my heart aching because of you…" He tugs harder and harder, back to foreheads touching as he plays it as close to the line as he can. He wants Poe to come, screaming, on his cock. Not whimpering on his lap. 

If he wants screaming, he's going the right way to get it. Self-pleasure is one thing – one very good thing, especially with the other man watching like this – but Poe needs more. Needs to be fucked. Needs to be _used_. The desperation is starting to show in his eyes, the awareness of what he wants and craves so very much.

"Take me," he begs, tightening his free arm around Kylo's shoulders, as firmly as he dares. As firmly as he can, given that too much pressure sends pain sparking through the wound on it, hitting different levels all at once and confusing his sensation-addled mind. "Fuck me. Please. I need you to. Need you to take what's yours."

"I will." A simple promise, easily made. He moves his hands down to Poe's waist, urging him to arch up enough for this, so they can deal with the layers of clothing still lying between them. He nods and implies that Poe might want to deal with the minimum amount of clothing that still stands between them, a rumbling purr at the feel of greedy hands tugging his full, hard cock out and ready.

Hands that urge him to move again, pull him into position to hover over his erection. A little work to angle it, and then he lowers Poe oh-so-slowly down and onto his lap again. 

"Put your hands in my hair," he insists. "On my shoulders. On my face. Touch me, Poe. I'm as much yours as you are mine." He drives that home by lifting Poe almost wholly up and off his cock, then slamming him back down to push as far inside him as he can get. 

"Yes… oh, yesyesyes…" Poe gasps, the sudden penetration making the whole world seem to shift, falling back, simultaneously like a sharp push on the throttle and the deceleration of dropping out of hyperspace. "You feel wonderful. _Wonderful_. Everything I ever needed…"

With both hands free, now, he can wrap more tightly around Kylo, pressing in to kiss him: kiss his neck, his face, his lips. Wanting to show him how much he means, how important he is… not in a galaxy-ruling way, but in a personal-world-changing way. Not quite sure how to give voice to what this is becoming, to how nothing will ever be the same again, to the realisation that _this is how things should always be_.

"I love you." Again. Easier every time. Easier and even more true. He rests a hand on the side of Kylo's face, staring into his eyes. Letting him in. Letting him _all_ the way in.

It's strange, but when he's with Poe, Kylo almost forgets he doesn't have the Force. It's not that he doesn't miss it terribly all the rest of the time, it's just that Poe himself is so very bright and **present** that Kylo's fixated and everything else seems to pale in comparison. He couldn't look away if you grabbed his hair and pulled with all your strength.

Poe. It's all him. All him. He lifts him up again, moving him as if he barely weighed a thing, but when he slams him down and thigh meets thigh, his lips part around a soft cry of bliss. 

"You can have it," Kylo whispers. "Whatever you want, you can have it, so long as I have you. With me. Always. I want you by my side, in my bed, in my heart and inside of my head. I'll follow you into battle and I'll give my life just to keep you safe. I'll kiss you and hold you and make love to you until your body cries out for mercy. I'll fill you whole, and I'll take you so hard your knees are raw and your thighs are shaking and your whole world goes black with **want**." 

" _ **Yes**_ ," Poe gasps, though it's almost – almost – a growl, too. "Yes. That's what I want. You. Always you. Rough, gentle, hard, soft, taking, giving… _you_. I'm – _ohyesyesyes_ – intoxicated by the way you make me feel. The way you – _oh fuck, please, please!_ – push into my mind… and I don't just mean with the Force. You're… _in me_. Inescapable. And I… _yes, like that, like that, Kylo, **please**_..!"

With every lift up and down, every drop back onto the other man's dick, Poe feels like he's being split in two. Like he really is going to break for Kylo Ren: physically, mentally, completely.

His hands are shaking – all of him is shaking – as he cups his lover's face in both hands, not looking away. Not ever looking away.

Although Kylo's loved every time they've done this, he thinks this might be the best kind, yet. He loves seeing Poe out of his mind with it, but here… here he can control it all, and have Poe's eyes and hands on him, too. He drinks in the feeling of warm palms and fingers cradling his face, and it makes things inside him twang and snap in agonising sympathy. 

"I'm going to make the galaxy safe for you, destroy Snoke's _grasp_. I'm going to make a home for you. In my heart, because I know you'll never leave the stars. But you'll have a home inside me, and me in you." It's possible Kylo's learned a little better how to _flirt_ at last. 

Poe's body welcomes each slide into him, tenses and gives and isn't quite harsh enough to get him off, not yet. It draws out the pleasure, makes it last longer. Kylo's thumbs dip lower on the man's waist as he keeps up the gradual rise and fall, rise and fall. 

"When we leave, I will wrap your body and your mind in the most intricate bonds ever known. I will curl my fingers around every part of you, and pull you bare. I will tie you to my bed and push into you so hard it hurts, and you beg for more. I will keep you on the edge of ecstasy and never let you fall over until I'm sure you'll go mad if I don't…" 

Hands moving, one to his lower back, the other between his shoulders, Kylo stands and pushes Poe down again, letting gravity impale him as far as he can go. He walks the short distance to the pod, slamming the other man's back into it and starting to move in earnest. His eyes never leave Poe's, daring him to flinch first. 

When Poe hits the side of the pod – legs completely off the ground, and still very much impaled on the other man's dick – there is more than just flinching. He holds Kylo's eyes for about five seconds of mind-whiting shock, overwhelmed by how _utterly_ he _loves_ this, and then suddenly his mouth is running like there's no tomorrow, and it's hard to work out how he's finding the breath for it.

" _Yes_ , Kylo, _please_ , like that, like that, I'm yours, I'll do anything, anything you ask, anything you need. I'll follow you to the ends of the galaxy – _beyond_ the ends of the galaxy – if that's what it takes, if that's what you want. I need you so badly every inch of me _aches_ when you're not there and so intensely that my blood _burns_ when you touch me and I want to break the skies in half just to write your name in the stars… "

The absence of a firm push _down_ – mentally, not physically – means that he isn't sinking the way he did this morning, or last night, or… OK, they really _have_ been going for it, haven't they? But it does. He'd gladly let Kylo do that to him every single time if it was what the other man wanted – because it is _amazing_ – but if he wants it this way too, Poe is not going to argue. Not when he can wrap his legs tighter around Kylo's waist, riding him as best he can in this gloriously difficult position, hands still on his face and gasping against his lips. An under-tall, tousle-haired, dark-eyed tangle of _need_.

"They will write songs about us: the Sith Lord and his Pilot consort. The man who moved the Dark to love. They will tell stories of how we ripped apart the murderers and the traitors and the liars and the thieves. They will talk of a love so deep and true the skies cracked open and wept tears for them." 

Real stories: the kind his family are known for. The kind a young Ben Organa-Solo had worried would never include his name, a legacy he could never live up to, never surpass. They won't say that name. They'll say _Kylo Ren_ and _Poe Dameron_. 

The position is a difficult one, but Kylo is in peak condition. Even after two days and a night on this planet, he's strong enough to hold Poe in place and rut up so hard he chases it in with a grunt. The angle is better, but still not quite enough. He could throw his lover over every surface available and it wouldn't be enough. His hands grasp Poe's face in return, his lips smashing into Poe's and demanding he kiss back as hard as he gets: biting, licking, swearing his devotion with a sudden violence that takes the breath away. Then he moves his hands to Poe's ass, holding it as he snaps his hips with every ounce of strength he has. The other man's cock bounces and slides between them, ignored but not forgotten. 

The words, the promises, the fucking – all of it – are stoking a fire deep in Poe's chest, in his mind, his heart, his damned _soul_. He's no Force-user, no Jedi, but he has spent his life doing what he thinks of as _good_ … and this, all of this, suddenly makes him see how someone could fall to the Dark Side. Or… perhaps to whatever lies in the middle, wrapped in shadow and passion and _desire_ , but tempered by the imperative not to rip the whole galaxy in two in the process.

His eyes darken all the more as the pleasure builds and builds, drunk on a need that never fades or lessens, like the first heady shot of alcohol but magnified a millionfold.

" _Break me in two_ ," he begs, but roughly, sharply, full of desperation and something bordering on insistence, but an insistence that is meant to push the other man to stronger things, rather than any true sense of _rebellion_. "I'm yours. Prove it. _Prove it_."

Not that he needs the barest extra flicker of anything resembling 'proof'. But need and want are two very different things.

Kylo loves that, loves hearing his lover half-beg, half-order him around. It's only a command if he doesn't want to follow it, though. Kylo's fingers press into Poe's hips so hard there'll be marks there tomorrow, and he drags him sideways into the pod. There's a console with flashing buttons, walls of supplies, and none of it matters. Things go flying as he slides Poe across them all, making a mess as he moves to find the nearest thing resembling a bed. He puts his hand around Poe's throat, slamming his head back onto the console display, the machinery beeping in confusion and protest. Right where Poe sat and piloted them down here. Right where Kylo saved him the first time, an instinctual flare of the Force until the dampening field stopped him.

Things start to move. Things he isn't touching. His passion sends things flying out of the pod to make room, the Force rising in his chest and he doesn't even notice he's doing it. The console splutters noisily, and Kylo presses down on Poe's jugular even as he wraps around him with all his sense of 'self', slamming into him with a power made stronger by the threads of life between them that Poe won't see. Without thinking, his mind presses down and into Poe's, but not with the intention of solely taking, with the intention of _sharing_ all he's feeling, too. 

" **MINE**." 

The physical slamming around, Poe is ready for. Is pretty much _asking_ for. He's a little surprised that they end up inside the pod and not just on the ground outside, but he's not exactly going to argue with that. It's rougher, it's unexpected, and it's also a ship – albeit a broken one – and that just makes it all the more enticing.

And then… _that_. He feels the low thrum in the air as the other man suddenly reconnects with the Force. He's so used to Kylo _not_ having it – because most of the time they've been together, he hasn't – that he's almost surprised to see what the man can do, what he's capable of, even distracted and otherwise occupied as he is.

But all of this is nothing, _nothing_ , compared to the way it feels when Kylo pushes into his mind. The sensation is familiar, and frightening, and _forceful_ , and Poe cries out in very real shock, overwhelmed by the sense-memory for a long moment. And then, as the feeling settles, he realises how different it is this time. Not mere insistence, not violation, but… _penetration_. Mind rather than body, but the intent still the same.

" _ **YES!**_ " he gasps, with what air he has left: gloriously ruined, split open mentally and physically, and on the point of breaking in multiple senses of the word. " _ **YOURS! ALL YOURS!**_ "

Kylo's acting on pure instinct, his own self without need for second-guessing or double-thinking. He forces Poe's head back with his hand, his lips going around the front of his throat and his teeth sinking in. He bites down hard enough to bruise, sucking and swallowing over the vulnerable skin and marking his territory as his and his alone. 

The sense he pushes into Poe's mind is one of overwhelming, gut-aching _love_ , lust and adoration all tied up in a bow of the fiercest possession and jealousy. A Sith might love, but it's a love that's more demanding than most. He sweeps into his head, stroking over the raw sensation and leaving the knowledge of his Mastery there like a firebrand into his soul. His hands claw pink, skin-scratching lines over the other's thighs as the Force holds him in place, and then he angles his thrusts that _little bit_ more to hammer into the place he knows Poe needs him the most.

" _ **COME**_." Spoken, but as loud inside as it is out. _Come, spill, seal our union and swear your allegiance to your Master_. 

For one agonising, perfect, beautiful, world-shattering second, Poe Dameron hangs completely on the edge: the lip of a cliff, the peak of an arc. It's a second that lasts a breath and an eternity, wrapped in a sensation and an anticipation so strong, he's not even sure he can bear it. The weight of it all: physical stimulation, mental control, and that overwhelming torrent of raw feeling pouring into him from Kylo Ren's mind, is too much. Too much. Far, far too much.

Perhaps that's what makes him love it – love _him_ – as intensely as he does. Something that is not too much can never be enough.

And then the moment breaks, and Poe _howls_ out in release, loud enough and sharp enough to leave his throat rough with the sheer force of it all. The first cry is completely incoherent, bordering on primal, _feral_ , and it's a few more seconds before his mind finds a way to get words in there too.

" _Fuckyes,_ " he cries, shaking as completion tears through him like a storm on the surface of a star. "Fuck, fuck, yes, I'm yoursI'myoursI'myoursforever…" Spilling between the two of them, despite the fact that the other man hasn't even touched his cock, overwrought with feeling, with this inevitable moment.

The tang of his release hits Kylo's senses like napalm, only stronger. He feels the moment in his sense of the other just before his body follows suit: a perfect storm of feeling, sensation, sound and pressure. Poe's body trembles underneath him, his cock splashing all over Kylo's tunic again and his hole dragging shudder after shudder from his groin. Kylo slams their foreheads together, pouring out a litany of love and adoration and finally lets the other's pleasure tip him over the edge.

It only takes a few short, sharp thrusts and he's coming deep inside him all over again. His cock is almost painfully sensitive as he spurts, his fingers flexing around his lover's face as he whispers: " _Yes, yes, take it, love. Take it. Take all of it. You're mine. You're mine and I'm yours. Nothing will take you from me. You are mine and always will be._ " 

The climax leaves him panting and pleased, his legs shaking a little from the effort, but Kylo holds Poe against the console. Softer little kisses, peppering over his cheeks and the corners of his mouth. He feels so utterly _alive_ , now, like the galaxy opened its doors and threw down the answers to it all in one glorious, wonderful man. Poe. His Poe. All his, and his alone. 

Poe can't move. Not right now. Not yet. He's still clinging to Kylo, legs tight around his waist, arms around his shoulders, holding on, and if anything his grip gets stronger as he feels the end of the other man's climax, and they both lean into each other more.

" _Fuck, but you're good at that_ ," he gasps in his lover's ear, his own voice rough and broken. And if this is Kylo when he's still inexperienced and learning, what by the Maker is he going to be like when he's had more time to practice?

Poe shivers a little at the thought, loving it. He aches all over: from the roughness, from the screaming, from the fucking itself. And… from the Force. From the way it felt when Kylo slammed into his mind the way he did… like it had felt the first time but _better_. Stronger. And, in lieu of any resistance, utterly overwhelming.

In other words… _bliss_.

"I had an excellent teacher," Kylo demurs, and his voice is utterly _wrecked_ when he says so. "And an even more excellent reason to learn." 

Kylo Ren has never been anything but a good student of whatever was put before him; Light Side powers, Dark Side powers, fucking Poe Dameron and falling madly in love. 

Except flying. He never really did get the hang of flying, much to everyone's confusion. He blames his too-long legs, if anyone ever asks. (Few do.) 

"You are incredible. Incredible and mine. You…" he realises he's trashed the pod, then, and looks a tiny bit sheepish. "…you can feel it, can't you? Perhaps not in the same way that I can, but you can feel how we are bound, in the Force? How… _right_ this is?"

Oh yes, the Force. He's not sure what prompted its sudden return, but he's not going to look into it too deeply in case it leaves again. They really do stand a better chance of survival if he has his full faculties, but also he can misuse his powers for personal gain. And gain. And again again. 

His presence in Poe's mind fades slightly, turning into the mental equivalent of a light brush of fingers through his hair. He can feel the (very, very loud) thoughts he broadcasts, but he doesn't need to dig deeper. He also opens his own mind up as much as possible, not sure if Poe can feel things like that, or if he can only feel what's pushed forcibly inside. Either way, he lets down his barriers for him. He trusts him, he realises. Trusts him to tell him his darkest secrets, his cruellest sins. Trusts him to know who Kylo Ren really is, to admit when he's weak, when he's unsure. 

Poe won't judge him, he's certain of that, now. He can… he can just be. Kylo. Nothing more, nothing less. Himself. 

"I can feel it," Poe whispers. He's still holding on tight, not because he's scared of falling, but because he needs the connection the same way he needs oxygen. "When you were in my head, it…" His eyes close, and a little shiver runs through him. "…It felt like you were inside all of me. And it felt like the greatest sensation I have ever known. The… starkest, most undeniable truth."

It still does, though the intensity of it all has lessened. He rests his head against Kylo's shoulder, breathing softly, not quite deep enough to sink into that other-place, but far enough down that he's all affection and need. And love. Which… they've both said now, and clearly both mean, and… _wow_ , but that feels so right.

"We are bound together," Kylo tells him, his voice as sure as the stars, and as resonant as the light they send out across the gulfs of vacuum. "Your fate and mine, they cannot be torn apart, no matter the distance or the problems we may face."

And they will, he knows, face many problems. Quite aside from the fact they'd have to split up to accomplish their plan, there would then be all sorts of issues after. Poe was surely going to be told this was survival-instinct only, or that he was falling into evil, or… any number of things.

General Org-- his **mother** might not… understand. He's sure she'd appreciate his assistance in bringing such a terrible weapon and a terrible creature as Snoke down, but how did you go home as a Sith? Which – with each passing hour – he is becoming more convinced is what is happening. This place, this _arena_ is a training temple, a proving grounds, a **crucible** , but of a different kind to any Kylo has heard of. He feels more centred, more… himself, here. He has a goal, a mission, and his connection to the Force now feels stronger than he can ever recall.

And Poe. Wonderful, incredible Poe. Poe who makes his heart race and his blood sing. Poe who makes the furious waves of need in him coalesce into something clear, bright and true. Poe who suffers so _agonisingly beautifully_ , who Kylo can't imagine existing without. Poe. 

He cradles the man to his shoulder, lips kissing at his temple and soft, wordless murmurs to reassure him. "Thank you," he says, as he holds him still over the console. "Thank you, for letting me in. I will do all in my power to be worthy of your gift, Poe." He scoops him against his chest, and turns to sink to the floor with Poe still curled around him, and with his spent cock still warm and there inside him. "I will say it every day, but you are the most glorious creature that ever drew breath. I love to hurt you, to see how you turn it into bliss. My Darkness longs to torment you, to pull you to higher ecstasy. I will never stop loving you. Not ever, Poe Dameron. You are the other half of my soul." He hopes Poe can see that for himself, now, hopes his self-conscious fears of inadequacy are assuaged somewhat. 

Kylo doesn't think any less of him for not being Force-sensitive. He doesn't _need_ to be. Kylo has enough Force for the both of them. 

For a moment, Poe doesn't quite know what to say, because none of it is close to being _enough_. His mind is full of so much emotion and thought that it threatens to explode out of him, and he struggles to keep a lid on it because he doesn't actually want to lose his composure. Again. It doesn't count if it's during sex.

"And you are the other half of mine," he whispers, knowing that it's true. Believing it with all he is. "And I… I will follow you to the ends of the galaxy, like a planet trailing in the wake of a star. Yours, forever."

"When this is over – all of this – when the galaxy is safe from Snoke, and evil is at bay…" Kylo isn't even sure what he's asking, just that he is. Could there be 'peace' in his lifetime? There was so-called peace in his childhood, and look how that turned out.

Would the galaxy stay safe long enough? Or would they constantly be called back to the front lines, to serve the chance for life of all kinds to flourish? He isn't certain, but if there is a chance for peace, even short-term… what do an X-Wing pilot and his Sith do? (Other than fuck against every available surface.)

"We will… we will see if we live to witness that. But if we don't, I know even in death we will be sworn to one another. My… grandfather… reunited with his wife, in the end. And we will, too."

He doesn't mean it to sound melancholy, or defeatist. Instead he takes some slightly anxious pleasure in the thought of an eternity with Poe. Eternity's a long time, but not when you find your soulmate.

"Are you comfortable? We should likely think of resting, soon, if we're to be fit to do the next trial. _'Through strength, I gain power'_." They aren't even halfway through. 

"Power, huh?" Poe remarks. "That sounds like it could be… interesting." Possibly good interesting, possibly bad interesting. Most likely the latter, but with scope for the former afterwards.

He tries not to think about the rest, even though it isn't negative. He makes a habit of not thinking about death and he doesn't want to break that habit any time soon. It isn't good practice, especially for someone who lives the kind of life he does.

"And yeah," he adds, in the slow pace of a man gradually settling in for the night, "I'm comfortable. You're here. Of course I'm comfortable."

He grins, easily, resting his forehead against Kylo's. Soothed by his presence, by his warmth.

"It is a good job the Resistance breeds and trains its masochists strong." Kylo says it mildly, with a very fond smile. He's never been the receiving end of a reaming like Poe keeps getting (obviously), but he can imagine how it must feel. The fact the man can still hobble around and smile all the damn time is a minor miracle. 

The Sith is only too happy to cuddle in closer, using his long limbs like a bird's broad wing around Poe. He strokes reassuring circles between the other's shoulders, a low, happy hum in his throat. "If you need anything, you must tell me. I seem to…" he lifts one hand and floats the nearest item closer, letting it hang in the air by Poe's head, "…have regained my powers. For the time being, at least." 

It feels different, now, though. He doesn't feel the constant itching in the back of his mind that he did before they crashed here; the anguished tug back and forth between Luke and Snoke. It's as if seeing things without a filter, no smoke or mirrors to blur reality or warp it backwards. 

Poe's eyes go a little hazy again at the sudden levitating object, his mind racing with the possibilities. Hoping that Kylo will keep his connection to the Force this time. Wondering what they can do with it if so.

"You do," he agrees, trying to keep his voice level. Trying not to sound like a man craving _more_ , even though he is. Because… well. Because of the masochism thing. Because apparently he might be a little bit that. Or a lot. Or entirely. Or something.

His smile doesn't fade. "Maybe you earned it back. I'm certainly glad if that's the case. It will be useful. You know, for the other tests…"

It would help if he could sound at least a tiny bit convincing.

"Poe Dameron, are you suggesting I use my natural abilities with the living Force to somehow cater to your perverted whims?" Pause. "I think you are." 

"I would never tell you what to do," Poe replies, just about keeping his voice level. Just about. "I am, however, suggesting that you use your natural abilities with the living Force to cater to your _own_ perverted whims." Pause. Breath. All in the eyes. " _Master_."

A flick of the wrist (and Kylo Ren _knows_ how to use his presence, from the mask that normally shrouds his face, to the silhouette of his impressive shuttle, to the way he always enters a fight that's already started) and an invisible fist closes around Poe's throat, squeezing tight. Force-fingers rake down his spine, and a heady _thrum_ of his intent bears down on him like a wave crashing against the shore; fierce, loving crests that peak and ebb and peak all over again. He calls into that furnace of love and emotion, using it to power the assault. 

And – because he can – he makes every sense trip. From the sounds of his own heartbeat turned up to rival a speederbike engine, to the barest flicker of air against skin feeling like sharp knives, to the dimming light in the world bursting out into vibrant, painful rainbows that nova through the eyeball and scorch messages into the back of his skull. 

He plays Poe's body like an instrument, strumming every nerve he feels exposed, then sending a dull, throbbing pleasure into his ass, where they're already joined. Poe might not be able to come again without serious intervention, but he knows if he does all _that_ and **then** takes his cock in his hand to stroke it firmly… then Poe will have no choice but to surrender all over again. 

"Careful you remember your place, Poe. I should hate to have to put you back into it." Hate. Right. 

Coasting a wave of heady pleasure – one that rolls and rolls and does not end – Poe just about manages to hold the other man's eyes throughout this onslaught. He wants to keep that connection, not so much from defiance as from strength. Giving the other man something to work at… and reaping the benefits. He does have to push through the initial shock of it, though; to overcome the instinctive flash of terror at being assaulted like this. Maybe it's simply because he's not a Force-user and so doesn't walk in that world, but the first moment of contact always borders on too much.

Of course, that just makes him like it even more. Though this in turn doesn't change the response itself. Emotion is complicated like that.

"I know my place," he gasps out, an edge of compliance coming quickly, given that he's still half-under. (And given that he's _him_.) Although… he's not _all_ compliant. Not yet. "And I know you _love_ to put me back into it."

There is an argument for saying that, when all's said and done and every factor is weighed up, he's asking for this. That argument is correct.

"Your place is under my control." Maybe he can get Poe off again, without it being too involved. If the man insists on pushing, then Kylo will respond in kind: every action met with an opposite and _overwhelming_ counterpoint. "Your place is on your knees when I enter the room. Your place is in my bed with your ass in the air, begging me to fuck it so hard the bed shakes. Your place is anywhere I want you to be."

It's easier to push all the way back into his mind, now. Kylo knows it better each time, and the other man – for all he makes a show of fighting – wants it. It makes it easier to slide his sense of self, his will, all through Poe's inner world. 

Easier to do it, while his hand works blurringly fast over Poe's cock. He bends his head to sink his teeth into the column of Poe's neck. He bites down hard. Hard enough to mark, and then he sucks as firmly as he can on the sensitive skin. The Force-touch continues to slide around him, a serpent looping constantly around his frame and _squeezing_. 

This… is rather more than Poe expected. Rather more than he was pushing for… OK, no, that's not true, but rather more than he thought he would get right now. He cries out in very real shock, the whole world going black, and the sense of the other man literally fucking his mind overwhelming everything else.

It is terrifying. It is wonderful. It hurts. It feels incredible. They can all be true at once.

The hand on his cock, however, is more than he can take, still exhausted and sensitive from before, so when Kylo starts stroking him like that, Poe nigh-on loses it.

" _Please!_ " he howls, high-pitched and obviously caving under the onslaught. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm yours, all yours, all… all… please… I…"

If there was ever a time to ask him a question he doesn't want to answer, now would be it. Even so far as where the Resistance base is. And… this is not a hypothetical he should be considering when the other man is in his head and _by the Force_ – quite literally – he is lost now.

The Sith Order tends to attract a few mindsets. Some of them are psychopaths and sociopaths in the clinical sense. Some of them are emotionally charged. Some of them are sadists. Occasionally the Venn Diagram overlaps in areas. Kylo Ren happens to fall into a few categories, and one of those is the sadistic set. 

Poe's utterly bare to him, body and mind, and Kylo laps it up like a man finding an oasis in a desert of despair. He doesn't let up the stroking – redoubles his efforts if anything – that grip around Poe's body cinching ever tighter and then he finds the part of Poe's head that controls all the _pain_ and flashes through it as fiercely as he dares.

Sith use emotion, power, pain, pleasure and more. And Kylo's very much a natural at it, if the tumult of ice-cold-freeze-shatter and fire-hot-melt-burn he slams into Poe is anything to go by. Over and over, pulling back just before Poe's sanity goes, only to give it to him again. He watches his face with rapt awe, then claws his other hand down over his back. This is literal agony for once, his short nails scoring four stark, slightly-bloody lines from spine to ass. The teeth on his throat cut the skin, filling his mouth with Poe's hot blood. 

" _ **PLEASE. PLEASE!**_ " Poe full-on screams, now at the point where he thinks he can't take any more, begging for mercy without restraint or consideration of the cost. It probably doesn't help that he omits to use the word 'mercy' out loud, and just sticks with several more repetitions of 'please', and there's an argument for saying that is unconsciously deliberate. That he _wants_ to be pushed into _breaking_.

Because… there's breaking and there's _breaking_. There's the point where you think you've gone, and the point where you actually do. And the gap between them can be a lot larger than is often realised.

Instinct kicks in, and he tries to fight back, though it isn't much to speak of on account of the acute physical and sexual exhaustion, to say nothing of the near-mindblowing pain.

**_NO_**. Kylo doesn't need to voice the order, it rings around in Poe's head even as his mouth laps at the wound he's just made. He grabs his hair with his hand, bending the man back like a bowcaster, arcing him even as he's still impaled on the Sith's cock. He pulls until Poe's stretched to breaking, his back curved and his muscles aching. He holds him in place, and then his focus shifts: one moment it's agony as much as the mind can take without closing down, and then it's flares of bliss. He alternates between the two, the shift coming faster and faster until the two blur hopelessly into one.

Before, he'd never have managed it. He'd never have had the fine control required to keep Poe hanging on the edge of insanity for this long. Close, but not close enough. Poe's poor cock isn't going to manage to spurt again, but it doesn't stop him moving to slam his pilot down onto his back. Moving to grab both of his hands with his own, and using his weight and the flare of need in his own groin to go back to fucking him with wild abandon.

Kylo doesn't remember when he got hard again. Probably it was when Poe first screamed. All he knows is that his lover's falling apart on his cock, and he's not going to stop until he's utterly insensate. 

The order hits like a blaster bolt, and – with the borderline-violent treatment accompanying it – Poe's mind just snaps, far more sharply than any of the times it's happened before. He drops back, no longer trying to resist, exhausted and trembling and still taking everything – everything – that the other man throws at him.

" _Please, please, please_ ," he whispers, over and over, the litany of a man damned and saved by his own inescapable needs. He can't take it. He can't. He can't. But he will. "I'm yours, I'm yours, mercy, mercy…"

The words aren't conscious. Very little is, now. He exists almost entirely as emotion and desperation and pain, dropped deep into the black, everything going intoxicatingly slow. And 'intoxicating' is the right word, because he is drunk on the other man. High on what Kylo can do. Increasingly unsure how he used to function without it.

"Mercy… please… please…" Like he means it, now. Like he'd tell you anything.

But Kylo won't give in that easily, even with him begging. They haven't really discussed the _actual_ point of no return, the real 'no', but even lust- and power-mad, he can read the other man like a holocron. Read him, and know when he's actually there, on the brink, on the cusp. Poe's surrendered, and that means Kylo has to be the one to judge the situation. The pain-wash abates, and he lifts his bloodied lips from his throat to kiss at his lips. 

" ** _Yes_**." One word, just one, as he lets go of the dam he's walled up inside of him, as he lets the man below him shatter. He sends a final jolt of pleasure through his body as he spills in him a second time, knowing Poe won't be able to do anything but coast it out and lie under him.

His eyes are distant, his lips parted and beautiful, his skin glowing with the tingle of too-much sensation. Gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. The man suffers so wonderfully, and he looks so at one with the universe when he's in so much pain. Kylo's heart swells with joyous pride; satisfaction at inflicting such intense sensation, and the knowledge of how very right this all is. 

"I love you," he tells him, even though Poe might well not be able to respond. He doesn't need to. He did the moment he called him _Master_. Kylo swore he'd protect him, and that will never change. He bends down carefully to kiss him once more, then simply lies on top of him. Hands that soothe his heated skin, nose that pushes against an earlobe, hair tangling with hair and self with self. He basks in the reflected glow from his lover, from his partner, and he's… it's right. There's no other word for it in Basic: it's right. They're right. 

This is what the galaxy intended, and Kylo Ren couldn't possibly be happier.

Poe tries to say something in reply, something like 'I love you too' or 'please do that again in the future' or words to that effect. What he actually manages is a small, soft little murmur that is about as removed from any concept of language as he is from the world right now.

But then, right now he feels so good that even if he _could_ speak, none of the words would be enough. They're all so simple and two-dimensional and they don't even come close to describing what this sensation, this instant, this _now_ , is really like.

But that doesn't matter. He knows that Kylo knows. They both know, and that's enough.

The world fades, and he drifts, the warmth of his lover and the dull ache of settling pain both lulling Poe deeper and deeper and – without him ever knowing it – he quickly eases off to sleep.


	11. Katas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back again! Again! Have another chapter, everybody. This one has lightsabre goodness. And badness... ;-)

When Poe wakes again, it is morning. Warm sunlight is filtering in through the windows of the pod, glowing across his face, pulling him from his reverie. He's slept the whole night without waking and – more than that – it must have been deep because he's been moved a little. He's still in the pod, but he's tucked into a sleeping bag, head resting on a makeshift pillow.

Every inch of him aches, but it's the kind of deep, wonderful ache that fills him with a low hit of pleasure all over again. He sits up, slowly, lifting a hand to rest against the side of his neck where…

…OK, Kylo really _did_ …

…wow, there are the memories…

For a few moments, he sits with his head on his knees, coasting the feeling. Trying to work out what it means that he wants _this much, this hard_. Trying to work out if he's surprised by it, or if on some level he knew it all along.

Possibly the latter. Possibly… yes.

He's alone right now, though he's sure the other man won't have gone far. He looks to the side, and sees his own clothes, neatly folded close by, with breakfast laid out next to them: some kind of mixed grains from the ration pack, as well as fresh fruit and water from the oasis. Seeing it makes him realise how hungry he is, and how thirsty, and he eats and drinks the lot far faster than a man in his still-exhausted condition has any right to.

Which is when his mind – in the process of gradually recovering itself, and no doubt helped along by the food and water – picks up on a series of sounds coming from outside the pod. Sounds that are, undoubtedly, the hum and whir of a lightsabre. For a second, worrying, Poe is about to jump to his feet, but then he realises that there's no sounds of combat, no evidence of threat. Just the thrum of a single weapon.

Intrigued, he staggers up – wincing a little at the way _that_ feels – and locates his pants from the pile of clothing, pulling them on. Boots too and then – because he should probably behave himself (a little) – his shirt as well.

And then, ready for anything (he hopes), he steps outside.

Kylo woke some time ago, and made all the necessary preparations. He has never needed as much sleep as most people, and he uses that to his advantage. Once he'd made sure Poe was as comfortable as he could make him (a hand lingering on his brow, making sure his dreams were pleasant), he did all the necessary domestics.

Even BB-8 was surprised, the droid following him at a slight distance and occasionally bubbling small talk. With Poe usually too busy to pay it attention, the droid has felt lonely. And if the only time it is going to get company is following around the Sith Lord while its master slept, it will do it.

Right now, said Sith Lord is dressed simply. Black boots, form-fitting black slacks, black undershirt that clings to his frame and leaves his arms bare. His long hair is bound with a thin leather thong up at the nape of his neck, keeping it from getting in the way as he moves. Eyes closed, he follows invisible guidelines through the air, his humming weapon kissing through the sky as he acts out katas long since memorised.

Normally, he would do them with his eyes opened. Often, he would do them much faster. And with an opponent. But for the minute, he's simply taking his time and allowing his body to perfect the forms. Later, he can speed them up if he needs to. Kylo's style of fighting involves a lot of spinning and twirling, making use of his long reach and height, mindful of the exhaust vents that mean his hand placement has to be more careful than most. He knows Poe is watching, and he decides to give him a show. 

All of a sudden the movements speed up, as though before they were at half-speed and careful, they become a fierce, passionate and one-sided dance. His legs kick out at unseen, imagined attackers and he finishes the routine by performing a somersault: leaping straight up and kicking his feet over his head, dropping down to one knee and flicking off the blade just before it would hit the ground. His hands push the warm, but unlit hilt into the soft ground, head lowered for a moment to finish the exercise before looking up.

He doesn't look peaceful and serene. He looks… pretty power-drunk and pleased. His cheeks are lightly flushed from emotion rather than exertion, his eyes sharp and dark.

"Good morning, Poe." 

The pilot is staring at him, wide-eyed and stunned. He knows full-well that his lover is proficient in the use of a lightsabre and highly-skilled in combat, but there's a difference between knowing this and _seeing_ it. And whilst he's had that lightsabre in his face more than a few times in recent days – to threaten and to defend – this is different. This… is watching from a distance. Detached from the moment. _Admiring_.

It makes him think, for a second, of that night on Jakku, when he saw Kylo kill Lor San Tekka. It was the first time he'd seen something like that up close, and he still remembers the way he felt: angry, yes, at the killing, but at the same time…

…at the same time it is impossible to deny how amazing it is to watch a lightsabre in action.

And here, he can enjoy it without fear or consequence or moral weight. No enemies. No threats. Just a beautiful man with a beautiful weapon.

"It is, now," he says, with quite a grin, when the other man finally looks over at him. "Don't stop on my account."

"Were you enjoying the show?" Kylo asks, still crouched down low. He still has such a presence, even in a low stance like this. It's the tension of a spring wound tight, ready to explode into action. He hesitates a moment longer before drawing himself up to his full height, both hands on the hilt. He flicks the emitter end backwards, and activates the blade as it arcs back forwards, crackling between them.

It's not the most subtle of phallic displays, all told, but Kylo doesn't care. Poe's bounced so hard on his dick by now that he must ache whenever he sneezes, so waving his other weapon about is really just semantics. 

"You know I was," Poe answers. And then something about his own words make him headtilt and remember, now trying to ask the question he wants to ask without sounding _too_ flirtatious. Sensible pilot voice. Really. "Do you… still have the Force?"

It's an important question. On account of all the danger and ancient tests. Yes. That.

One of these days, he will sound convincing.

In response, Kylo sends a brief flurry of air around the other man: a tiny, soft whirlwind that starts by his ankles and works up to tousle his hair. That, plus the heady, content smile says _yes_. Yes, he does. 

"I assume this means we are progressing through the Sith training at an acceptable rate." It certainly feels like it. It feels like they're getting somewhere. Kylo has a goal, a purpose, and a meaning. He doesn't feel torn in two the way he did when they arrived: Snoke on one shoulder, Luke on the other. Both men feel distant, now. Even with the Force back, he doesn't sense them in his mind. 

Poe smiles. It is slightly bad, slightly wicked, but mostly good. Mostly for tactical reasons.

That.

"I'm glad," he answers. "You… really do look beautiful with that sabre, you know."

Not a line. OK, not _meant_ as a line. Meant as a compliment. And… an invitation to continue, if Kylo so wishes.

Poe radiates his feelings at the best of times, an emotional radio-station that Kylo hardly needs to think to hear. Even when he doesn't have the Force. Now? Now he's like a constant, comforting glow and buzz at the periphery of his sense of self; other, but part of him, too, the lines that tangle in and out of them stronger every day. 

It could be terrifying, if it wasn't so wonderful. Kylo knows there's no risk Poe will subsume him, or him Poe… well. Other than when they're making love, of course, but that's a discrete point in time. 

And also… well. Kylo likes that Poe finds him attractive. He'd always been a bit of an odd one out, a little too lanky when younger, a little too angular and withdrawn. His eyes soften at the compliment, hands making the blade describe a figure of eight. 

"Come closer." 

The pilot doesn't need telling twice. He's still cautious as he moves, though, pacing across the rough ground to where Kylo is standing, eyes following the arc of his lightsabre. He knows Kylo won't hurt him – not like _that_ – and he knows the other man is more than skilled enough to do this without putting either of them at risk.

But you can't turn off caution. Especially when you enjoy it.

Kylo keeps the blade down and to the right, stepping in close. He uses his left hand to put Poe into the stance he wants, and then steals a quick, chaste kiss. "You can keep your eyes open if you like, just do not move. It will be harder to do this if you move." 

It's been a while since he's done anything even remotely like this, but he's sure it will work. Poe blazes so brightly in the Force that Kylo could feel when he snorted in his sleep before. The Sith moves to stand back-to-back with Poe, hands clasped in front of his face and blade held erect. 

A pause. A few breaths, the time not yet right and then – all of a sudden he _moves_. Kylo brings the lightsabre down and to the left, the blade close enough to singe the loosest threads of Poe's pants, halting just before it would burn through fabric and skin. It pauses, then it tracks up and around as his feet dance below him, following some unspoken pattern as he weaves his way around. Like earlier, when he'd deflected the flying creatures, but this time the lightsabre comes so close that a single wobble could sever limbs or trunk. His face is a line of concentration, his breathing barely audible under the snap- _hiss_ as he works. Faster and faster, his hair working loose and glancing across Poe's cheek when he snaps from left to right. 

When he's almost done, he springs higher up in the air, repeating the manoeuvre from before. When he lands, the toes of his boots are brushing Poe's, and he sinks to one knee with his sabre extinguished, head lowered at first, then looking up to his lover. 

"That… was…" Poe tries, staring, his eyes even wider and his heart racing like he's just been running. Or… something else energetic. He's suddenly hyper-aware of everything: from the smallest flicker in the air to the heat in his own body. A longing he cannot deny. Slowly, cautiously, he puts a hand out, stroking over Kylo's temple, tracking into his hair, studying him. Wondering at him.

"I could watch you do that all day." He means it, too. Any lightsabre is breathlessly beautiful in the hands of a skilled wielder, but with Kylo… it's more than just skill. More than just control and form and practice. Perhaps it's because the only other Force-users Poe has seen have been Jedi, but there's something about all Kylo's raw _passion_ that makes him hypnotic in contrast.

There have only been two men Kylo has knelt in front of, before this. Both were his Masters: one in the Light, one in the Dark. Neither of them deserved it the way Poe does, and he lets his eyes close to enjoy the soft touch. It isn't a weakness to accept comfort or affection, and it isn't a weakness to show your own, either. He waits just a moment longer before he clasps the hand that touches him, turning his face to kiss at his palm as he surges back to his feet. 

"Have you ever used one?" Kylo asks, suddenly. He's aware of the difference between them, the upbringing of a Jedi of family fame and a pilot who has never used the Force. "I doubt my uncle allowed you to."

And he killed the other Jedi over a decade ago, but he tries not to think about that. 

The question takes Poe by surprise, and he shakes his head a little, eyes flickering between Kylo's and the currently-inactive hilt in his hand. "No," he says, and oh but there's a longing in his voice as he speaks. "No, I haven't."

He wanted to, though. He remembers growing up on Yavin 4, running around the forest with the other children, playing at being heroes of the Rebellion. Sometimes he'd be a pilot, like his mother, and sometimes a soldier, like his father. And… sometimes, after he heard the stories of his mother's adventure with Luke Skywalker himself, he'd be a Jedi.

The memory snaps. All so very long ago, now.

Kylo flips the hilt in his hand, offering the pommel-end towards him. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to point it at me when you turn it on, or to burn your fingers." Still, he has to say it. It's the protective side of him, rather than any lack of faith. 

Jedi _and_ Sith tend to be protective over their respective weapons. It's a very personal thing, your own blade. Crafted by hand, long-deliberated. He knows what he's saying in doing this, but they've already said much, much more. 

Poe stares at him in obvious surprise. On the one hand, it's a weapon he is never meant to use, a weapon for the kind of warrior he cannot – by definition – be. It's Kylo's and it's beautiful in his grip and there's something sacred about that, something that doesn't feel like it should be messed with, even given that the two of them are fucking like crazed womprats.

But, on the other hand, it's a _lightsabre_ , and Poe longs to hold it, even for a moment. The look in his eyes is almost awed – and very drawn – as he reaches out and grasps the hilt. The metal is warm beneath his hands – from its recent use – and, even inactive, he can feel how powerful it is.

He gives a little nod. Acknowledgement. Acceptance. Gratitude.

And then… he steps back – eyes full of a mix of caution and excitement – hesitating just a few seconds before he thumbs the blade into life. Red light lances out, vibrant and crackling, and he jumps a little at how intense it is, the raw power – of both kinds – undeniable.

"By the Maker," he breathes. "That's…"

He moves the blade through the air, slowly, testingly, feeling the way the whole weapon thrums beneath his fingertips. It's like nothing else in the whole galaxy, and it's clear from his expression how much he loves it.

"Something, isn't it?" Something is an understatement. Kylo remembers the first time he got to turn one on. It had been Luke's, and he remembers the feeling of terrified anticipation from everyone around him. He hadn't even done anything but swirl it a few times and then turn it back off again, too anxious under everyone's watchful gaze to really get a feel for it. 

Still, he remembers. It's a painful thing to look back on, and he wonders if the terror everyone felt around him that they tried to keep out of his consciousness didn't help push him further into the Darkness. He's a self-fulfilling prophecy, after all. 

"Stay there…" 

The Sith takes a few steps back, then uses both hands in front of him. He lifts up a small volley of stones – each about the size of a small fruit – and hovers them between them. "I will go slow. Deflect them in any direction, you will not harm me."

He has too much control to allow that. The first one comes in at the pace you'd throw a small ball, zipping in around shoulder-high. 

This is not what Poe expected, and he jumps a little as the little swarm of stones rise into the air. It's strange because he knows this would be so easy with a blaster, and he tries to get his mind to think about it differently. Lightsabre up, he waits for the first stone to fly at him, swinging the blade to deflect it. He feels like he's going to miss, like his timing is all off, so he's taken by surprise at the slight jolt indicating he's hit the target, sending the stone flying away from them both.

" _Yes_ ," he murmurs, though it's not so much an expression of pleasure as it is an almost childlike burst of delight. He realises he's done it and instantly tries to reel the feeling in, but then the second stone comes flying – a little faster this time – and he launches at it with rather more gusto, striking home again and filling the air with a tiny flare of sparks.

"Don't shy away from your emotion. There is no shame in pleasure, no guilt that should hang from satisfaction," Kylo tells him mildly enough. Plus, he likes feeling the radiated happiness. It's certainly a change of pace.

BB-8 – who's been watching from close by – cheerily beeps its own encouragement, too.

The next one comes in with more of a curve, and its trajectory would have it hit Poe square in the forehead without deflection. "You may not have the Force in the same way I do, but you can still use your feelings, your heart, to fuel your actions." 

This is not a difficult concept for Poe Dameron. He uses his heart and his feelings all the time; lives by them, flies by them. He nods, accepting the words, trying to focus on how much he _wants_ this.

" _Got you!_ " he exclaims, as he hits the next little target – slightly too close for comfort, but squarely enough – sending it ricocheting off to the side. It pings off the edge of the pod, landing close to BB-8, who chitters in excitement.

" **Good**." Kylo encourages him with sincerity, enjoying watching him work. It's nothing like the training his Knights undergo, something… closer to the Jedi method, but that's only because this is his first time and because Poe isn't, actually, able to predict and move like a Force-user is. Poe won't ever be able to do everything he does, but he can at least excel at it in his own way.

The other man's excitement is pouring off in waves, and Kylo decides to encourage it. "Turn it off for a moment. If you're going to get the best movement from it, you need to work your wrists more." But doing that with it activated can lead to chopped off fingers and even arms. 

The Sith walks in behind him, arms around him to rest over Poe's hands. "Twist and turn it – like… like you would the flight controls. Move through every dimension and get a feel for where your fingers will go… then, when you're confident, you can turn it back on and try again." 

Oh, but that feels good. The proximity and the hands and… yes. Yes. Poe keeps concentrating, though, too invested in getting this right to let himself be wholly distracted. Partially, yes, but not entirely.

He pays attention, watching how Kylo's hands move, getting a sense for it. He's good at thinking in three dimensions – you have to be, if you're a starfighter pilot – and some of that translates across into this. Just… on a much more personal level. Intimate, almost.

When Kylo eventually steps back, Poe tries the movement a couple more times, thinking about it, feeling it, and then he lets the blade spark into life once more. There's something intoxicating about the way it thrums beneath his palms, full of power and possibility, and he lets that sense fill him up, too, before he raises the blade, ready to try again.

"This time I will send them from multiple directions. None of them will be big enough to do anything but sting, but you should keep your peripheral awareness as high as possible," Kylo says, stepping back further. He picks up another handful of the rocks, these ones moving out to form an accretion disc around his pilot. 

When Poe looks like he's ready, Kylo sends two in at once. They come slightly staggered in time, and both within his field of vision so he can join the sweeping movement to hit both. 

The two at once take Poe a little by surprise, and he swings a little less controlledly, instinct making him react rather than trying to focus on form. He strikes one of the stones, sending it whirling off, but misses the second, feeling it impact against his shoulder. It stings, yes, but no more than that, and the sensation just fires him up all the more.

"I can do this, I can do this," he murmurs, mostly to himself, eyes scanning over the ring of pebbles, waiting for movement. Searching for targets, he can do. It's hitting them that's tricky. But… _he can do this_.

Two more stones come at him suddenly, from a slightly wider angle, and he swings again. He remembers to move his feet this time, remembers how to turn his wrists to angle the blade, and… " _Got you!_ "

"Much better," Kylo purrs, his voice going lower with pleasure. It's interesting to watch Poe like this, the way his nose scrunches just slightly when he's focussing, the tiny flickers of tongue and the little bounce he gets to his knees when he's moving. He's so caught up in the exercise that the world fades away, narrows down to just the two of them.

Oh, and the droid. Which rolls cautiously closer to the Sith, apparently in a show of solidarity. 

"Remember not to follow your hands with the blade, you can swing and look in another direction at once." Which comes in handy when your boyfriend starts to bring things in faster, but without much more force. He doesn't want to draw blood after all, though the one he pings off Poe's butt is pure mischief. 

Poe has been so caught in the moment, managing to take down more of the pebbles than he lets through, that the last one makes him yelp a little in surprise, turning a roguish grin on the other man and obviously still riding the high of how much he's enjoying himself.

" _You_ are _wicked_ ," he says, very warmly. And not risking dropping his stance.

"Sith," Kylo counters, with an equally fond expression. "Wicked is practically in the job description." 

Even BB-8 doesn't object, and it rocks back and forth in mild amusement. 

"Now, if you--"

Kylo doesn't get a chance to finish that statement, though, because there's a sound of stone on stone off to one side, and everyone's heads turn towards the newly opened door. "Ah." 

Poe lets the blade fade out, lowering the hilt as he looks over at the entrance. It seems to beckon to them, enticing them in, another path leading deeper into the temple itself.

He turns to Kylo. "We… should probably go exploring in there. Even though I suspect whatever we find will be less fun than this." Most things are less fun than this.

Kylo nods, and heaves a heavy sigh. He's been enjoying their little training session. It's a welcome change from flashbacks and painful encounters. "The next step is power." How that will translate, he isn't sure. 

"Are you ready to set out, or would you like to gather anything first?" 

"Give me a moment," Poe says. "I'll grab the supplies. And my blaster." No way is he going without that. Not after yesterday. Or the day before.

He is, however, still holding the other man's lightsabre. He stares at it longingly for just another second, and then turns the hilt to offer it back to Kylo, leaning in for a quick kiss as he does. Not pushing for anything or trying to slow them down. Just… wanting to thank him.

And then he hurries back into the pod, finding what he needs. BB-8 whirrs and bleeps at him as he steps out again, and Poe rests a hand on the top of the astro's dome.

"I'm always careful," he says, in response.

Kylo smiles and watches his shorter lover bound about, that enthusiasm of his never dampened for a moment. He's just so positive and happy that Kylo knows he'd never be able to feel depressed for long in his presence. Poe just makes everything much brighter, and that's so refreshing. 

He'd probably find some way to sell breaking all your limbs and winding up in bacta for a month.

The Sith hooks his lightsabre back to his belt, feeling glad he shared the experience. Poe can't know all of what it's like to have the Force, or all of what Kylo's world is, but the same is true in reverse. Poe's world doesn't have sinister voices, and is filled with camaraderie and fast ships. Kylo wouldn't ever fit in as a pilot, even if he could fly worth a single credit. When Poe meets him outside the door, he puts a hand on the back of his neck, the gesture one of reassurance.

"We will get through this, and anything they throw at us. We are stronger together. With you by my side, I can do anything I need to." 

Poe smiles, and kisses him again. Because he can. And because it's lovely to hear the words, knowing how much they mean. And how much he means the same.

"You're right. You can. And if I can make it possible, I will. Anything, Kylo. You know that."

Life would be so much easier if they could just stay here and act on that feeling. But… Poe is all too familiar with having to drop everything because your life depends on it. He lingers over the contact for just a second more, and then steps back, attention turned to the newly-opened archway.

They can do this.

They pace over to it – BB-8 whirling in their wake for some of the way, but holding back once they get close, with a mournful little sound – pausing when they reach the very entrance. The passageway that has now opened up does indeed lead deeper into part of the temple, and the path ahead quickly vanishes into darkness.

"This looks… promising," Poe remarks, very dryly.

"My forebears are even more prone to being dramatic than the Jedi, and the Jedi elevated it to an artform." There's no malice on that title for once, and if he's feeling any lingering resentment, Kylo doesn't show it.

He ignites his blade and steps into the dark.


	12. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. We're back. Again. *grins* We love you all! <3
> 
> This one is going to take you by surprise. We know. Bear with us! All will be revealed... ;-)

Kylo still isn't sure why they have to call it the Starkiller. It's basically a giant Death Star, and yes it consumes a star when it's charging, but then it destroys other things, too. Planets, for instance. Why is it the Starkiller and not just the Killer in general?

It's possible he's over-thinking things, trying to fill his mind with nonsense so no one senses what he's up to. Which is – right now – leaning over the console in the General's office, trying to do things on his login that Hux really would not approve of.

And trying to keep Snoke out of his mind in the process. 

This looks easier on the holos. He's no idiot when it comes to computer systems, but the Starkiller was designed by security over-conscious First Order technicians, and even on Hux's login he has to do some creative work to get around the safety protocols surrounding the shielding. 

It's a good job no one can tell he's sweating under his helmet, although as he's alone in the room it's a moot point currently. There's only a few minutes before Poe's squadron of X-Wings jump to sublight, and then they'll need him to be ready. It's all working on a series of interdependencies that really aren't ideal, but which they have no choice but to accept. He glances at the clock, getting his finger ready to press. Poe's team is due in two minutes. Two minutes and--

"Lord Ren. What are you doing in my office?"

"That is none of your concern," Ren says, wondering if anyone will notice if he just Forces the General into unconsciousness here and now. No. He needs his cover.

…cover. Damnit. How is he supposed to keep his cover if Hux sees him in here moments before the attack?

The tall officer walks around, and Kylo has to turn, hand hovering over the button, trying to count down the beats in his head.

"Are you… attempting to sabotage my base?"

"You accuse me of high treason, General?" 

"Why else are you in my office?"

Kylo's fingers itch to push, but it's not time. When he hears Poe talking, then he'll know they're here.

"As I said, it is none of your concern." 

Out in space, swathed in darkness, a group of X-Wings drop out of hyperspace in a little cluster. There's a black-and-orange T-70 at the head of the group, swooping in first and waiting for the others to catch up.

"All teams, report in," Poe Dameron calls, over the radio, and waits as each pilot from the two squadrons in his wake announces their readiness, one after the other. This part, only he can hear: the radio link he has to Kylo only relaying what he says, not all of them. It had seemed sensible when they made their plans, lest he distract the other man from what has to happen. But Kylo will at least hear everything Poe himself says and – from now on – vice-versa.

When the last acknowledgement has come through, he speaks again. "This is Black Leader. Everyone hold position and wait for my signal. We don't make our move until that shield is down."

Inhale. Exhale. Stay calm. The mission itself, Poe is hardly worried by. He should be, but he isn't. All his concern is for Kylo, and what the other man has to do over on that huge, terrifying deathtrap.

It's there, in his field of view now, vast and imposing. Starkiller Base. Poe wonders if this is how it felt on the day the Death Star was taken down. As though, however immense the target, however insurmountable the odds, victory was still possible.

"Starkiller base is my concern," Hux retorts. "And all that pertains to it. What are you doing, Ren?"

Kylo bites his lip under his helmet, trying to use that to focus his attention. He thinks the fleet will be in orbit, now, but it's hard to run both near-and-far things in parallel. "What I should have done long ago."

The tall General paces closer, his hands clasped behind his back, his heels clipping precisely on the firm flooring tile. "You intend to usurp the Supreme Leader, don't you?"

The Sith suddenly thanks the Maker yet again that his helmet hides his expression. "You would not--"

"I know your kind. Dead man's shoes. You intend to kill him and take over his empire. You want to be the Supreme Leader yourself."

Kylo freezes, the words going straight to his core. He can't rebuke, can't deny.

"I will join you."

Wait, what?

"We will turn the Starkiller on Snoke. It will demonstrate our power – your power – and the Republic will either cede or be destroyed next."

Listening over the radio, still hidden in the dark of space, Poe feels his breath catch, a lurch of alarm rising in his stomach. This is not what he expected. Not what either of them expected.

His hands tighten on the controls, lingering near the trigger, desperate to expend some of this energy. Desperate to _destroy that thing_ before it hurts anyone else… and not just in the way it's designed to.

He can't speak. Can't cut in on the conversation his lover is having. For a moment, the whole universe is just a single sentence, a single thought.

_What if this is what Kylo Ren really wants?_

Kylo thinks about it. Really thinks about it. What does he want? He wants Snoke dead. Dead, because he deserves it. Deserves it for all the pain he's put him through, even if it's made him who he is, made him stronger. Dead because he doesn't want the man in charge any more. Dead because it's _his_ time, not the old, flickering image of a man who should have died many years ago.

With the Starkiller, he could kill him with a single press of a button. Just one, and he's gone. Just one click and there's nothing else to stand in his way. He would be the new Supreme Leader. He would be in control.

It's a powerful tool. Very powerful. He was there at its conception, when the magnitude of its arsenal was drawn in green and blue lines through the air; projections, calculations, payloads, potential. It would mean control in a way nothing else could. Nothing inspires obedience like fear, and no one would hold a weapon so powerful as he did.

He could even shore up the defences. Make sure the assault they have planned could never happen again. Learn from the mistakes Snoke made.

…he wouldn't even need to fire it a second time, surely? Once would be enough. Once – like Alderaan – but better. Convince the galaxy to yield to the common sense of unity. And he could change the Order, right? He doesn't believe in Human supremacy, so that would stop. But there's so many good soldiers on this base who could well die if their plan goes through as they intend. Soldiers who are only here because they were slaved to this life of black and white from childhood. Soldiers who can't escape, who are mere tally marks in the calculus of war. 

"You would follow me?"

Hux's eyes glow with fanatical fury. "To destroy the Resistance once and for all, I will follow the strongest power in the galaxy. I will swear all my troops to you, Lord Ren. You will be the Emperor that your grandsire should have been."

His grandfather… who had never openly made a move on Palpatine until there was a potential Apprentice: Luke. Who had not fallen for a moon made of death, but…

"The Resistance will continue to fight us. They will not be subdued by a show of strength, General."

"Then we crush them. We crush them, until only the loyal remain." 

On the other end of the comm line, Poe actually closes his eyes for a moment. To be hearing this from General Hux is surprising in itself – well, OK, no, both surprising and not – but Kylo…

His breath catches in horror, enough to be audible if the other man is paying attention. Poe Dameron lives and dies by being able to react at near-lightspeed, by not letting himself be thrown by whatever the galaxy chooses to fling at him. But right now… right now, in this moment, he is all but frozen in shock, as the second terrible thought crosses his mind.

_What if this is what Kylo wanted all along?_

Because it could be. It makes sense. Seize the Starkiller, destroy Snoke, and then rule the galaxy himself. It makes a great deal of sense, and Poe silently kicks himself for not having realised that this could happen. For forgetting that the man he loves has been on the path to rule the galaxy with an iron fist for much longer than there's been anything between the two of them.

Poe bites his lip. What if this _is_ where everything has been leading? What if he's brought his whole squadron – the best pilots in the Resistance – here for nothing? If Kylo turns on them, turns on _him_ , it will be too late. They won't all be able to scramble out of range in time before they have multiple squadrons of TIEs on their tails. Some of them will die. Some of them might even be taken alive, if the First Order is feeling particularly cruel.

That's how this is going to end, isn't it? With Poe thrown back on his knees in front of Kylo Ren, having to look up at him and know he's been played. Know he's been _broken_.

…and damn, but even now, that thought excites him on some level. Which is…

No, no, no.

" _Kylo_ ," he whispers, the horror getting the better of him. " _Kylo, don't do this_."

"You have the potential. The Supreme Leader knows this. It is why he made you his second in command, but why he has refused to let you progress any further. He knows you could destroy him, and he wants to use you for as long as he can," Hux continues.

This is true. Kylo has learned so much recently, progressed so far. He could likely even win in a fight against Snoke on 'equal' terms, he thinks. And what is he going to do after destroying this weapon, anyway? If no one takes control of the First Order, pulls it under their command, they will just rise up again like they did from the ashes of the Empire. Someone needs to. 

He could do it. He has the strength required. He is powerful in the Force. He knows galactic politics better than most men alive, thanks to… thanks to his mother. His finger itches, unsure if he should press the button or not.

"The Resistance pilots--"

Hux could shoot them down any minute now. Kylo realises that, when he hears Poe's voice. The longer he delays, the more likely they will be spotted and blown from the sky. He doesn't want that, he knows he doesn't want that. He doesn't want Poe to die, but Poe would never… join him, would he?

"We will destroy them."

"No." No. "You will not."

"They are nothing, Lord Ren. Flies on the back of a Bantha. We will crush their pathetic squalling, and--"

" **No**." 

The First Order… stealing children from their mothers' arms, conditioning them to a death they might not even believe in. Suppressing any species that dares to not be Human. Silencing any voice of debate or mutual benefit. Thinking nothing of wiping out whole planets worth of people…

…and for what? Kylo can see how death is necessary, how troops die and sacrifices must be made. For either side to triumph in this war, people will die. Innocent people will die. The Resistance kills the blameless as surely as the Order does. But to what goal, to what end? Is one really better than the other? In the trenches, perhaps not. One Stormtrooper is hardly different to an X-Wing pilot, when all's said and done. Given the choice, given free will, as many would murder on either side as would not.

It's the top-down that's the problem. Snoke and Hux both represent a goal of personal power linked solely to malice, cruelty and sadism. Kylo can't deny he likes the idea of being in _control_ , but does he really want the rule they have?

No.

"You have such potential," Hux pushes. "Your name would echo down through the aeons. Your mask would be the figurehead behind a revolution. You must accept this, to know that you have to _take_ what you need."

And is what he needs indiscriminate murder? Cruelty for the sake of cruelty? Pushing himself above the parapet to make his head a target for the next young, bright thing?

Kylo hits the button. " _ **Now, Poe**_." The shields are down, and Kylo wonders if he's made the biggest mistake of his life. He's thrown down the enemy's gate with him still inside. He's in the core of a base of people he's just condemned to death – innocent and guilty alike – and there will be nowhere in the galaxy for a man like him to run.

But it's his decision. His choice. His desire. This is who he wants to be.

Hux screams and launches at him. 

The words hit Poe like a punch to the gut, but – by the Maker – he reacts quickly. The relief and the adrenaline are still coursing through him as he squawks the radio and broadcasts to the two squadrons in his wake.

"Red Squad, Blue Squad, this is Black Leader, the shield is down; I repeat, _the shield is down_. All wings, follow me in!"

And they move at once, a well-timed cascade through space, arcing out from their hiding point and into full view, swooping in on the planet below. The descent is quick and sharp, the shielding on the X-Wings protecting the pilots from the powerful G-forces they're pulling as they drop through the atmosphere and hurtle towards their target: the thermal oscillator known as Precinct 47.

In mid-descent, they all lock their S-foils, cannons primed. And not a moment too soon.

"All wings, TIEs, coming in hot!" Poe hears Snap Wexley call over the comm and, in the blink of an eye, the enemy fighters are on them. The two Resistance squadrons break apart, Red starting to run interference, and Blue continuing to follow Poe lower. Beneath them, their target finally appears through the clouds: a vast, dark-metal structure, lit with deep red running lights, sitting on the surface of the snow-swept planet.

The instant Poe sees it, he knows this is it: knows this is his moment, this is his day. As far as the Force goes, he could never be Luke Skywalker. Could never be a Jedi Knight, like the warriors of Old. But here, behind the controls of his X-Wing, he _can_ be Skywalker.

He can. Because this is his Death Star, and he is going to be the one to bring it down.

The moment breaks as he hears a yell over the comm, and catches an explosion in his peripheral vision off to the left.

"Red Five is down!" he hears Jess Pava shouting, a hint of pain in her voice. "Asty, cover me!"

The loss stings, but Poe knows they can't dwell on it now. When they get home alive and victorious, they'll mourn the fallen. Right now… they need to _win_ , both for the lost, and for the living. He tightens his grip on the stick, swinging left and right, taking out a TIE fighter that's coming at him and then barrel-rolling to the side of the ensuing explosion, unleashing a second volley on the pair of TIEs trailing in their now-destroyed leader's wake.

BOOM. And… BOOM. Sometimes it's too easy. Sometimes it's just the right kind of easy. Poe whoops over the radio, hearing Snap call back in agreement, and then arcs to the left, pulling off another sideways loop and…

"The outer defences are down!" Bastian, this time. "Black Leader, we good to go?"

"Copy that!" Poe answers, feeling the thrill of the moment rise in his chest again. "Red Squad, keep laying down covering fire. Blue Squad, follow me in!"

Kylo lashes out with the Force almost too late, sending Hux flying backwards into the wall out of sheer panic. His control suddenly gone, the realisation that he's given up everything – everything! – and for what? He'll be hunted down by the First Order – by Snoke – and he can't go back to the Resistance.

He's played himself into a corner, and all he has is the weapon on his hip and the mask on his face and the knowledge that, in the end, he did it. He made his mind up. He walked into the impossible corner and he… well. Went down fighting.

If he dies here – or shortly after – he'll die his own man. He'll have rejected both the Jedi Order and Snoke's own Order. It's possibly very egotistical, but there are worse things to be than self-assured and self-made. He's Kylo Ren. No: he's Darth Kylo. Son of a smuggler and a politician, grandson of Darth Vader, lover of Poe Dameron and no one's puppet. 

Hux's neck is at an awful angle, and he's no longer breathing. The snuff out of his life force is barely a flicker in Kylo's consciousness, and then survival instinct kicks in. Do or die. He could sit here and parry volley after volley of weapons' fire, or try to control every mind around him, or he could… run.

The weapon will go, and Snoke will know his treachery, and he has just a limited amount of time to do this. He slams open the door and stalks through the command suite, heading towards the hangar bay before anyone asks questions.

"Please tell me things are going well," he asks, his voice… strained when he says it. His legs are long and he's covering the ground as fast as he can. Ship. He needs a ship. He needs to get out of here. "General Hux is dead. So far no one has uncovered my betrayal, but it is only a matter of time."

He radiates a wall of 'do not look at me' around himself as he heads towards the ships, the doors opening and…

…there's no one here. No one. Every pilot must be scrambled to fight off the Resistance, all the mechanics and the technicians somehow absent. Kylo stares in horror, wondering how he's supposed to make it now.

"…Poe. I have a problem." A fairly big problem. "I need you to come get me." 

Above Precinct 47, the squadron of X-Wings drops lower, Poe still in the lead. He can see it at last, in the distance: the target. The burning gash in the side of the vast structure, the point they need to break through in order to do this. The starfighters swing down, dipping into the outlying parts of the precinct, making their assault. Making their…

…By the Force. It's a trench run. Poe whoops out loud again, to hide the sudden little gasp of shock. He's doing this. He's really doing this. He's going to destroy an Imperial superweapon – no, no, First Order, First Order – and he's going to be the hero of the Resistance. And he'll finally feel like…

…like…

This is it. This is it. Swing left, fire – BOOM – cannon down. Now right – AND AGAIN! – TIE sent hurtling into the trench wall. The entrance up ahead, beckoning, ready; now, now, n–

Which is when he hears Kylo's voice over the radio. He's been so lost in what he's doing, so lost in the battle, that it drags him back to reality for a moment. And that's when he detects the edge to his lover's voice, and realises something is very wrong.

"Little busy, here," he says, over their private comm line. "Can you buy yourself five minutes?"

"Poe. The First Order will realise at any moment that I have betrayed them. I have murdered their commander, and I am stuck on a base you are trying to destroy."

Beat. Let that sink in.

"I have nowhere else to go. I am in the hangar bay, and I--"

Why can't he just say it? Kylo grinds his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, his whole body wound with tension; that flash-flame anger making him want to **burn** the world again and…

"…I cannot fly." 

There. He's admitted it. Kylo Ren – once Ben Organa-Solo – son of Han Solo, Captain of the _Falcon_ , master of the Kessel Run. Nephew of Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master and X-Wing pilot, destroyer of the Death Star. Grandson of Darth Vader, pilot of his own TIE fighter, skilled in the Force and the joystick.

Kylo Ren, who can't fly a single damn ship in this hangar to literally save his own life. No one here that he can force to do it for him, nothing to do but stand and stave off death. For as long as he can survive. "I need you." 

The words hit Poe hard. Not because he's surprised by them – on some level, he isn't at all – but because now he's faced with a terrible choice.

He's in this trench, course locked in, eyes on the target. He can do this. He knows he can do this. He knows he is _meant_ to do this.

He has waited his whole _life_ to do this.

But… if he stays on course, stays on target, he won't be able to get to Kylo in time. The other man will be trapped on the planet when the destruction of the base rips it apart, and he'll be killed. He will _die_.

The world seems to slow right down, and Poe could almost reach out and touch the explosions as they pass. He feels that lurch in his stomach again, but different this time, because now it's all on _him_. The choice. The choice between the thing he has always wanted the most… and the man he now loves more than anything.

Which means it's no choice at all.

"Snap, Testor, Asty, stay on target!" he calls, over the squad's comm line. "I have to pull up!"

"Force-damn-it, Poe, what are you thinking?!" Snap shouts back, obviously confused.

"No time to explain! Stay on target! You can do this, guys. You can do it!"

The moment is an agony. An agony, and the easiest choice in the whole galaxy. Poe Dameron pulls up at the last second, hurtling almost vertically away from the trench, from the surface of the planet, blasting TIEs out of his way as he loops up and over, only one thought in his mind now.

"Hold on, Kylo. Hold on. I'm coming."

Kylo lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, the shock and the realisation making him take a half-step backwards. He's helpless, right now. He's literally given everything he can give for Poe's cause – for _their_ cause: for personal freedom and the chance for life and liberty – and now he has to surrender to _Poe_ , for once. He can't do anything more, and that's terrifying and freeing both at the same time.

Sometimes you have to take that leap of faith. Sometimes you have to push past your own limits. Sometimes you have to believe.

Poe's coming for him. Poe's going to save him all over again; he's going to save him, and it's okay. It's okay that Kylo fucked up. It's okay that he accidentally ruined their plan. It's okay that he can't fly worth shit, and he might just make this out alive and with his soul intact all the same. Force above, but it just might work. 

"Thank you," he whispers, fighting back tears. Poe's going to save him, and that's all right.

He doesn't have long to revel in the sensation, though, because they've found him out. He can sense the wall of anger from just behind the blast doors, and he thinks he can see Captain Phasma spearheading a troop of soldiers, armed with blaster-cannons and worse. 

Kylo considers his options, then runs for his shuttlecraft. He can't fly, but he can sure as hell shoot the weapons at anyone who tries to take him down until Poe can come and rescue him. Killing things is his specialty, after all, and he can do more damage in a gunnery position than with just his lightsabre right now. Shields primed, he hits the trigger and slices through the first wave of Stormtroopers. He takes no pleasure in ending their lives, it's a simple matter of survival. 

Poe is flying as fast as he possibly can. It's a little tricky, particularly to start off with, because he has to blast TIEs out of his way and dodge laser cannon fire, but he does 'tricky' as standard… and, besides, he's too focused on what he's doing to dwell on anything else.

He's just given up what should have been the biggest moment of his life. It ought to sting.

It doesn't.

The X-Wing hurtles across the surface of the Starkiller Base, heading for where Poe knows the main hangar bay is located. He's seen the plans, memorised every point of importance, so he doesn't even need to think about it. He just flies like his life depends on it, leaving the battle far behind him, swooping over the snow.

And then he sees it, up ahead: the wide entrance to the hangar bay. It's guarded – he knew it would be – and he has to pull off a pretty tight loop before opening fire on the trio of TIEs that come at him, taking out one and sending the wreckage barrelling into the second, before aiming at the last.

A final explosion, and the way is clear. Without letting up on the throttle, he lets his proximity scanners map the way ahead, angling his flightpath until the last second. And then he pulls completely off the throttle, just as the X-Wing hits the surface of the hangar bay at precisely the right angle, skidding for a lot longer than seems safe or sensible, coming to a halt after several screeching seconds.

"You ready for this, buddy?" he calls to BB-8, and the astromech bleeps in almost excited agreement. Poe hits the cockpit release, slams the button to lower his droid out of the ship, and leaps from the X-Wing the moment he can. There's rather a lot of stormtroopers swarming into the bay – kept back by the shuttlecraft off to the side, still firing on them – and Poe has to start shooting too.

There isn't a great deal of cover, but he moves fast, racing across the dark metal plating of the vast hangar bay, BB-8 rolling quickly in his wake. They have to stop at one point, taking cover behind some kind of power-line module, Poe aiming and firing more carefully before he's ready to move on.

And then the shuttlecraft is within reach, and pilot and droid race around the back and into the open rear door.

"Kylo? Kylo!"

"I'm on the bridge!" the Sith Lord calls out, between volleys of fire at the now-enemy. "We don't have much time."

Poe's here, and it's going to be okay. It's going to be fine. They're going to win, going to take down the Starkiller and escape. What comes after that will have to happen when it does, but for now… 

The relief at hearing the other man's voice is palpable. And, with himself and BB-8 now safely inside the shuttle, Poe hits the control to close the rear door, before racing into the bridge with his droid still at his heels.

"I'm here, I'm here," he says, quickly. There's no time for a proper reunion now, though, and – with Kylo still at the gunner's station – Poe drops quickly into the pilot's seat. Upsilon-class again. Funny how familiar he's been getting with these things of late. He starts flipping switches, powering up the main engines and angling the deflector shields to give them some more defence from the increasingly-troublesome waves of stormtroopers shooting at them.

There's a heavy clunk, and the shuttlecraft starts to lift off from the hangar floor, turning slowly as it starts to make its escape. And, as they go, Poe catches sight of his now-empty and rather battered X-Wing lying alone and still where he crash-landed it. He really is going through those things at an alarming rate.

Several volleys scrape over the ship's hull, but between Kylo's covering fire and Poe's evasive manoeuvres nothing actually does any real damage. They zip out and pull against the planet's gravity, escaping atmosphere for orbit. 

"Do we need to try a bombing run?" Kylo asks, eyes and hands glued to his console. "Or will your fleet be able to do this?" A sudden fear that he's cursed it all with his own survival instinct kicks in, and if he has… if this has all been for nothing… 

"They can do this," Poe insists. "I know they can. I know they _will_. I–"

Down beneath them, a massive explosion suddenly rips through Precinct 47, sending fiery bursts flaring hundreds of metres into the air. As it happens, Poe hears a whoop over the radio, and remembers that he's still got his line to the rest of the squad.

"Nice shooting, Snap!" he hears Jess shouting.

"Right back at you!" Wexley replies. "All units, pull up and prepare for… wait, wait, there's a ship on my scope, Upsilon-class, coming up from the surface…"

"Blue Leader, this is Black Leader, over!" Poe calls quickly.

"Dameron?!" comes Snap's answer, sounding surprised. "Are you flying that thing?"

"Yes! Long story. Can you cover us?"

"Roger that! Blue Squad, follow my lead. Everyone watch your six!"

Kylo waits for Poe to finish, not wanting to intrude upon this, not wanting to get in the way of their retreat, nor their victory. He holds his tongue until he thinks it's done, and then he turns to Poe.

"…thank you." Sincerity there in his tone, sincerity and emotion. He doesn't quite know the ramifications of what Poe just gave up for him, can't understand it all in the moment, but he knows he saved him, and knows without him, he'd be dead. "I… thank you." 

Below them, he can see the sudden scramble back as the ships turn tail towards the base, clearly now in survival-mode instead of pursuit-mode. The planet is going to blow. All those people are going to die… but so many more will be saved. It's a harsh reality of warfare, a necessary evil. It's still going to hurt him to feel it. "We should get as far away from here as we can." 

"You don't have to thank me," Poe says, softly. Realising how much he means it. Realising how he regrets nothing. "But you're right about the getting-away part. Hold on…"

He squawks the radio again. "All ships, get ready for the jump to hyperspace… on my mark… three, two, one… punch it!"

The shuttle bursts forward, there's a yank in reality, and everything streaks to white.


	13. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently we broke a few of you with that last chapter. Excellent, excellent, all our plans are coming to fruition...
> 
> ...By which we mean: here, have another one! ;-)
> 
> EDIT: Now with slightly NSFW fanart at the end!

Poe awakes with a sudden jump, air sparking renewed into his lungs.

For a moment, he can't process where he is, or when he is, or how… or what… and…

He sits bolt upright. He's in the ancient Sith temple on the as-yet nameless planet, on the floor in a large, square chamber. It was dark when they came here – he remembers that much – but there's a little light now, the air still heavy with a sense of power and possibility.

Looking to the side, he spots Kylo at once – still flat on his back – and practically falls over himself as he crawls quickly across to the other man, half-lying at his side and putting a hand on his cheek.

"Kylo? Kylo, wake up!"

Instinct kicks in before thought, and Kylo reacts with a flinch. His hand snaps up and grabs Poe by the throat, eyes blinking open as he--

Oh. _Oh_. He keeps hold of his throat, but yanks him in to kiss him bruisingly hard on the lips instead. That's the _second_ instinct. His fingers soften, stroking where he'd just hurt, and then he slides his hand around and into Poe's hair.

"You came back for me." 

It's possible he should be leaping to his feet, assaying the situation, checking for danger… but he's just so filled with gratitude that for a moment he forgets where they are. 

"Of course I came back for you," Poe replies – a little roughly, given the sudden assault. "I love you, you idiot. How could I _leave_ you?"

He really should be trying to work out what in the Force just happened to them. Instead, he kisses Kylo some more, because he _needs_ to right now.

It would be very easy to leave him, Kylo thinks. To take the destroyed base as a parting gift and realise he'd be better off without him. Use him like Snoke did, wring every last drop of worth from him, run back to his Resistance friends who never murdered vast swathes of people, be draped in glory and… 

He holds Poe in place, and bites and licks at his mouth with low, hungry, pained need. It's not even really sexual, right now. It's a heart-deep aching in his chest, in his core. Poe. Poe, who deserves so much better, but picked him all the same. "I love you too," Kylo whispers, and his eyes hurt when he says it. "I love you so much, Poe. I – I--"

Both hands in Poe's hair, and he presses their foreheads together. "Thank you." He knows he keeps saying it, keeps saying the same few things, but he **needs** to. Needs to say it until it's clear it's real, or until the aching in his heart calms enough to let him stop. 

"I told you, you don't have to thank me," Poe murmurs, even though the last time he said it was in… was in… _whatever_ it was that just happened to them. "I would never have left you behind."

He curls in closer, half-on top of the other man right now, but suspecting he doesn't mind. Or, at least, that he'll take matters into his own hands if he does. Although… this _is_ more than sex. It's deeper. More important.

The closeness is everything, and he needs it so badly right now. Like he's been running alone for a long time.

Kylo wraps his arms around him, making Poe settle into place, fingers dancing and stroking and soothing. Then – on instinct – he moves his legs to loop around Poe's ankles, too, clinging on like a marsupial and a comforting blanket in one. 

He moves to nose against his ear, not saying anything for a while. 

But he wants to. He clearly wants to.

Eventually the pressure in his chest gets too much, and he whispers out a soft: "I'm sorry." 

The words take Poe by surprise, amidst all the gentle contact, and he looks down at Kylo. "For what?" he asks, softly.

Suspecting he already knows.

"…I hesitated." It was rather more than a hesitation. It was a full blown… almost-massacre in there. "I… wavered." Kylo swallows, and closes his eyes.

"I think – I _know_ – that the test… played on… aspects of my desires. My ambitions." My lust for power, political and military. "I… nearly said yes." It frightens him that he might have, but he might have. And it's likely going to happen again and again, inside this testing nightmare and out. He's going to have shiny things dangled in his line of sight, and he's going to need to make his mind up. Over. And over. Again. 

"I know you did," Poe tells him. "I know. But you didn't, in the end, and that's what counts. That's _all_ that counts. None of this is easy. None of what's to come – for real, next time – is easy. But when push came to shove… you turned it down. You turned it down…"

He closes his eyes. Now that the adrenaline has worn off – the shared hallucination far behind them, reality restored – he can remember how it felt. He can remember that moment, inside the false-but-real world they've just experienced, when Kylo had the chance to take his – some would say _rightful_ – place as ruler of the galaxy. The shock of the memory chases through Poe and he curls in tighter, the thoughts flaring in his mind where the other man will surely be able to feel them, now he has the Force back.

Kylo did turn it down, and he wasn't even aware it was a test at the time. He should take comfort in the fact, but he doesn't. Not entirely. The fact that a huge part of him felt the craving, felt the pull in the first place… his hands go still on the pilot in his arms.

The first time he picked up on a negative thought, it was his father. His mother had always been a rock, a source of light and love and life. His father had, too, but his view of life was much more cynical. Kylo can remember the first thread of fear he sensed in Han Solo, the sideways look out of the corner of his eye, the frown when young Ben said or did something he didn't quite agree with. The way it hurt like a fist to the nose, and how he'd cried himself to sleep that night, convinced his father no longer loved him. He hadn't meant to read into things, hadn't known what he was doing when he felt the loud echoes of emotion that people normally took for granted as unspoken and therefore unheard, and…

"You… are afraid of me."

It hurts. It still hurts. Even now, it's a terrible thing to have to face up to: that your own, innate gifts and nature are terrifying to those who love you. He doesn't mean to pry, but heightened feelings leak out and he picks up on them. 

His arms tighten, but don't loosen. "…you are right to be afraid." 

"I _was_ afraid of you," Poe says. He avoids over-thinking the words, and just lets the truth come out. The other man has that effect on him. "Of course I was. You were… you _are_ … one of the most powerful people in the galaxy. The first time we met on Jakku, you held me in midstep like it was _nothing_. And on the _Finalizer_ …"

His eyes go heavy-lidded, and he curls in instinctively, so the other man can't see his face. It's pointless, though, given that it will be obvious in the Force. But. Old habits die hard.

"…I'm not afraid of you anymore," he goes on, making himself lift his head again, making himself meet the other man's eyes. Trying to demonstrate his honesty. "I've seen who you really are, under all those facades you put up. I've seen the torment in your heart, the struggle between Light and Dark. And though I can't ever truly understand what you're going through… I've seen enough to know what it says about who you are. I would never have fallen to my knees for you otherwise. I'm a masochist, not an idiot. And…"

Keep going. Don't lose it now, Dameron.

"…And if you need proof… look inside my head. See for yourself. Go as deep as it takes."

"I… no…" No. He shouldn't. Even Kylo knows there are boundaries. Even a Sith Lord recognises that in a relationship, some things are sacred. Poe should be free to have his own thoughts, his own _deep_ thoughts, and Kylo should trust him. Should have faith in him.

…but the temptation… oh, it's there. The prospect of knowing what Poe Dameron really thinks about him, what he fears, or doesn't. What he worries, what he likes, what he dislikes…

"No." Kylo won't do it. He shakes his head, and then moves to kiss at his temple. "You have the right to your own secrets, Poe. I won't violate that trust, even if you offer it to me. I… I need to… have faith in you." 

And faith means not knowing. Faith means accepting there are things outside of your knowledge, your certainty. He clutches him tighter, and bites at his ear. Instead of sliding in to read, he pushes a thought into his lover's mind instead.

_**THANK YOU.** _

And, despite it all, Poe smiles. "I told you, you don't have to thank me," he reminds the other man, very gently. "And… if you need to look, in the future… if you need to _know_ … you have my blanket consent."

With this said, he pushes in for another kiss, taking his time with this one, wanting to prove how much he means what he's saying. Regular people have to do it with actions, after all, and Poe likes to think he's good at that. Another kiss, and another, and then his lips move slowly along Kylo's jaw and down the side of his neck, trailing more kisses as they go.

"I will still say it, because I must," Kylo argues. He will. He'll thank him every time he feels the need.

And then, just because Poe might be happy with surrendering that much, he has to be the bigger man and know there are lines he shouldn't cross. When Poe's far enough under his control, he knows that his lover would readily consent to things he wouldn't, if he were fully himself. He loses a sense of danger, of self-preservation, and it's Kylo's responsibility to keep him safe. From himself, and from Kylo, too. That is a promise he's made, even if only internally, and one he intends to keep. 

"It should never come to that. If it has, then I've failed you as a lover." 

The sudden kisses take Kylo by surprise, and he lets out a low, pleased moan as Poe starts to work his magic over the sensitive skin of his throat. He drops his head back in surrender to it, fingers back up and in his hair. He strokes over his scalp, his throat vibrating with a basso rumble of pleasure. "I love you." He does. He does so much it fucking well hurts. Another brush against his mind, but this one just a push of how he feels inside, making sure Poe knows precisely how much he cares for him. Which is a _great_ deal. Enough, apparently, to almost get himself blown up in an attempt to save the galaxy. 

"I love you too," Poe murmurs, against his lover's skin. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

The other man seems not to be objecting to the attention, so Poe keeps doing it, kissing all the way to the neckline of Kylo's shirt, and then… well, why not? He slips lower, knees braced either side of his lover, and starts slowly pushing that shirt up, kissing a gentle line from Kylo's stomach all the way up to his chest. Keeping the movement slow, and careful, partly to make it feel good, but also to ensure the other man knows he's just being affectionate, not pushy. Giving, not taking. Not overstepping on how they both want this relationship to work.

Kylo doesn't surrender anything easily. Not anything. And even though this is just loveplay, even though he's just… lying back and letting Poe please him, it sends a trickle of panic into him. No. NO. He forces down the frisson of fear, knowing there's no way Poe would dare hurt him. No way this man would cause him anything but happiness. 

It's just… it's just that he… he needs to… he needs to do, and not be done-to. He needs to be the one making the decisions, giving the pleasure. He needs…

His hand balls into a fist, nails cutting into his palm. One smash into the floor, two. The old explosive reactions flaring in his gut, being forced down by a knowledge, a strength, a… faith. Count. Count to ten. The anger fades, and his breathing is a mess. He sees Poe looking up for confirmation, and he nods. It's okay. It's more than okay. His hand unclenches and moves back to cup his lover's cheek gently. 

It's okay. It's going to be okay.

Kylo rubs a thumb over the back of Poe's neck, then scratches only very lightly down his spine. Not fever-bright pain, just a little trickle. He knows Poe likes the danger and the hurting of it, and he wants to make sure he gives as well as takes.

"…anything." Anything he wants. Anything he needs. Kylo offers it in one word, and hopes Poe understands what he's saying. He might be his Master, but Poe has his heart and his faith and his permission to take or need anything he could want. Kylo won't refuse him a damn thing. Not now… not ever. 

The other man's reaction takes Poe by surprise, making him slow what he's doing even after he gets that nod to continue, and when Kylo speaks, Poe goes still for a moment, watching his face.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers. "If you need to take… then take. You _know_ how much I want you to." It's not as though the other man needs the Force to see _that_. "And, if you want to just walk back to the pod and curl up in each other's arms, all you have to do is say the word."

He keeps stroking gentle fingertips over Kylo's chest, just light, just slow. Maintaining the contact without pushing further than he should.

"I…" What does he want? A lot of things. Kylo wants to flip them over and bite his name into Poe's warm skin. He wants to pull his hair so hard his throat whip-cords for him, a line of life laid bare for his attention. He wants to smack him so hard his hand hurts from the reverb. He wants to fuck him so harshly into the gravel below that they have to pick the stones out from his palms and bandage them up. He wants all of those things.

He also wants… he also wants Poe… other ways. Maybe. Not quite so fierce, or a different kind of fierce. He wants to see the man straddle him and ride him like there's nothing outside of their heads, like they could just keep touching one another until the stars go out. He wants Poe to keep kissing him, to move his lips over places that have never felt that touch. He wants to flay himself open and bare, just to prove he can, just to offer him the terrified parts of him as much as the cruel parts of him as much as the hungry parts of him as much as the loving parts of him…

So much. He wants it all, and he isn't sure in what order. 'Yes' is the answer he wants to give, which is entirely unhelpful. And not very decisive. At all. 

His eyes go fuzzy for a moment as he tries to work through the confusing mess inside of his head. He bites down hard on his lip, and forces his mind to work through options. Or… he tries to. 

"I… want… to know it doesn't… always have to be like that. I… like it. A lot. But I…" His cheekbones stain pink with embarrassment. "I want to know we can do it other ways, too. Sometimes. If we need it." Teeth press into his lip, eyes… shy, almost. "I like what we normally do. A **lot**. But I think I would like to know we… we can do anything. Anything, if we… want to."

He's not making sense, he's sure. All he knows how to do is take, control, force and hurt. Maybe he should just do that? Poe likes it. Is it all Poe likes? Should he even mention it? Was this a monumental failure of judgement? 

Poe listens, and watches, and he doesn't need the Force to read so very much in the other man's voice. In his words. All of it. He waits until Kylo is silent again, and then presses right in, almost nose-to-nose, looking down at him from very close up.

"Kylo," he says, gently, "you think I'm involved in this, involved _with_ you, just because of the things you can do to me? I won't pretend they're not a draw. I won't pretend they're not what sparked this off, what kept this going whilst we both worked out what we wanted, but… they're not the whole of it."

He traces fingertips down the other man's cheek. "I told you… I want _you_. I _love_ you. So… if you need this to be softer, then let it be. Let me… let me do this. If it isn't what you want, you can reassert control at any time, but if it is, then… enjoy it."

Kylo's face burns hotter than Tatooine sands at high noon, his whole body itching and confused and unsure, but also sure. Torn between two poles as certain as Light and Dark. He wants so many conflicting things that it's just a mess. He's supposed to be in control of himself, in control of **Poe**. But he doesn't want to be. At least for a little while, he wants the reassurance that he… can sometimes… maybe… just… be?

"You won't be disappointed?"

He feels it's important to ask that, even as Poe blinks down at him and promises things. 

"You know I… I've… all I know is what we've done. What we've done and… the things you hear about, or see." Kylo never went looking, but sexual imagery abounds. No surprise, when it continues the various species. Or when it feels as good as it does when they do it. 

Eyes closing, he leans into the fingers, craving just the affection as much as he craves the other thing. "I want to learn. I want to be good to you. For you. With you. And I--" Damnit. Why is it difficult to admit he wants it less harsh for once? He feels terribly guilty even asking. "Please." He slides his hands down, down, down to Poe's waist, down to his ass, gently stroking over the backs of his thighs. "I just want… you." 

"Then relax," Poe urges, tone still soft, and careful. And car _ing_. "Relax… it's all right…"

Cautiously at first – not wanting to take this too fast – he slides lower again, tracing fingertips over Kylo's chest, following the contours of his skin. He really is beautiful, and in amazing shape, and it's hard not to just settle back and admire that. But this… can be more. This can be Poe gently moving a hand over his lover, attention flicking between what he's doing, and the other man's eyes. Making sure he's still reading this correctly.

He pushes Kylo's shirt right up, leaning in to lightly, lightly brush over the tip of one nipple with his tongue. Not trying to cause anything but sensation, to provoke anything but pleasure. He circles it a few times, then closes his lips around it and sucks, enough to be felt, but not to hurt. And then, gradually, carefully, he kisses his way over to the other nipple, moving to do the same to it, murmuring softly as he does.

"You're so beautiful. So magnificent. I love that about you."

Fuck. No. This is worse than if Poe could crawl into his mind like Snoke does. It feels weirdly more intimate than having his worst nightmares on display, and Kylo doesn't know why it's so difficult, but it is. A voice screams out to run, run away and find his mask and cover his face and pretend it was nothing and insist Poe kneel and--

Stop it, he tells himself. Stop it. He squirms under the compliment, not believing it to be empirically true in the slightest. He's a mess. He might be lean and strong, but he's wrongly-shaped, oddly-proportioned. Too tall, like his grandfather. Too… awkward-looking. Kylo's never thought of himself as anything other than hideous. 

But he sees no lies in Poe's eyes when he says otherwise, and he calls out brokenly at the attention he faces. His fingers catch at the edge of Poe's shirt, slipping shyly under like he hasn't seen the man bare as the day he was born. He dances just his fingertips in the small of his back, then up, up, up over the expanse of his torso to his shoulders. Fingers curve around, pressing over and into the space above his collarbone, and he pushes Poe back down to silently ask for more of that. 

"I'm… not. Not like you, Poe. You could have anyone you ever wanted, You could charm a stone monument into loving you." 

"And yet I charmed you." The pilot grins, warm, loving. "Don't let my desire for regular surrender fool you, Kylo. I'm very stubborn. I don't do anything unless I want to. Maybe I could have anyone I wanted – I think you overestimate me, but I'll take the compliment – but it doesn't change this: the one I _want_ is you."

More kissing, soft, slow, down the centre of Kylo's chest. Slipping lower, now. A man with something to prove. Poe Dameron does not do things by halves. He is an all-or-nothing sort of guy, and right now… 'all' seems to be in order. Fingertips follow the path his lips are taking, as if he's gradually drawing light, careful pleasure through the other man, making it spread out, making it fill him up.

He'd gladly ride the other man senseless right now. He could, too: he's confident their improvised lubricant is in the little bag of supplies that's dropped close by (don't ask questions, one should prepare for every eventuality) and he's sure it would feel wonderful for them both. But… this isn't about he himself, not really. It's about Kylo, and if that's the case, Poe wants to make it _all_ about him.

So, he moves lower still, maintaining as much contact as he can as he slowly undoes the other man's pants, working them down enough to free his cock. His very, very lovely cock. Poe murmurs in pleasure as he leans in, starting to kiss firmly along the length of it. Building up slowly. Taking his time.

Kylo throws his head back with a loud groan, hands back into that hair of Poe's. He tugs at it, but gently. Presses fingers into the spaces behind his ears, calling out broken and quiet. It's not because of a lack of feeling, though, it's just that he's naturally more reserved and it's difficult for him to even make a sound at all. 

"Please," he whispers, and parts his legs willingly, trying to say yes as much as he can. "Please. I-- I need you. I love you. Please, Poe. _Please_." 

"Shhhh," Poe murmurs, lifting his head just a little, staring up at the man along the length of his body. "You have me. You have me. I'm all yours, Kylo. All yours…"

He's said it before, but it's different this time. No less meaningful – oh no, nothing like that – but different. Spoken not in a moment of desperation and near-insanity, but a moment of simple, honest truth.

Lips parted, and he starts sucking on the tip of Kylo's cock, circling around it several times before opening his mouth wider and letting it slide deep. As deep as he can without it becoming too challenging – now is not the time to show off, Dameron – and then slowly back up. Then again. And again. Every action – even the simplest, like the hand resting on Kylo's hip – filled with care and adoration.

Kylo doesn't know what to do in the wake of such tenderness, keeps wondering if he should just – should he just lash out? Snap an invisible hand around Poe's throat? Hide from affection in pain and things he knows better? It's fucked up – _he's_ fucked up – but the gentle, caring behaviour is almost too much for his mind and heart to handle. 

His heels scrape at the ground below him, everything going _tense_ as he fights the very real urge to do something ridiculous and self-sabotaging, pushing it instead into wrapping his legs around Poe for ballast, fingers on his shoulders so he can dig into the muscles there instead. It's not out of a need to hurt him, but a need to do _something_. He can't just lie still, and he can't buck up, and… how in the hell does Poe manage to let Kylo do things to him? Doesn't it drive him insane?

Harderharderhardermakeithurtmakeithurtmakeithurt. The words travel around in his skull like a litany, like a credo, and he wants so badly. He loves him. Maker, he loves him. He'd love him even if Poe decided they never could have sex again. (Of course he'd miss it, he'd miss it all the way through to his core, but he'd accept it.) He loves him, and he wants him to not stop, but also to stop, and to go faster, and to-- anything! "Poe, **PLEASE** ," he begs. He needs more. More, and faster, and now. Right the fuck now. 

Force alive, that is hot as hell. Poe knows the other man's words are out of need, not surrender – nor would he expect them to be – but that doesn't make them any less wonderful. If anything, it makes them more so, because to be wanted, to be needed, by someone this strong and powerful is… wonderful, beyond rhyme or reason.

"Anything, Kylo, anything," Poe murmurs, pausing for breath before he sinks his lips right down over his lover's cock and starts sucking hard and fast, for as long as he can. Giving the other man all he's got. Determined to keep doing just that, until he gets a result, or Kylo needs to re-assert himself.

Whatever it takes.

Oh holy hellfire, where did Poe learn to make it feel like that? His beautiful lips wrapped around his shaft, glistening and pink and the feel of his tongue and his throat, the soft sounds of sucking and the way his lashes brush his cheeks and Kylo is lost, so lost, so damn lost that it would take a million years for any astromech to plot a course back to civilisation from wherever he's gone to in his head. Or out of it. 

He bucks underneath the other man, wordless cries of pleasure as he's buffeted between the sensations and the knowledge in one. He feels so good, so right – his body shaking with the oncoming storm, the pressure he can barely hold back. "P-Poe, I'm-- I'm--" His eyes meet his lover's, asking permission, and the minute their gazes lock, he's done for.

Kylo _howls_ out in terrified bliss as his climax hits, the pulse seeming to come all the way up from his toes and out through his cock and down Poe's throat and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK. His heels dig into Poe's ass as he spasms, hands not even sure where they are but they're grabbing for all he's worth. It's testament to how gone he is that he doesn't even lash out with the Force. 

Poe doesn't back off until the other man is fully spent, taking every last drop; slowly, slowly sucking until Kylo goes still beneath him. When he has, when it's over, Poe lets the man's cock slip from his mouth, licking his lips and then grinning up at his lover again.

"By the Force, that was good," he says, voice a low purr, rough from arousal and from the slight abuse to his throat. "You're so unbelievably hot, you know that?"

He starts to kiss his way gradually back up his lover's body, taking his time with it, trailing lips over still-exposed skin. Knowing how every nerve-ending will be fired up in the wake of that climax, and wanting to show the other man just _how_ good this can be.

Kylo manages a reply, but it isn't in Basic. It isn't even a half-formed word, more of a tonal grunt and whimper combined. Every little touch is like Force-lightning over oiled skin, the touches almost too much for him to handle. His whole core throbs with the aftermath of his orgasm, and he wonders if this is something akin to how Poe feels, when the tables are turned? Kylo certainly enjoys it when they do things the other way, but it's… it's like comparing a sunrise to a sunset. Both are beautiful, both are linked, but both are as different as you can get. (And both are needed: a balance, a dance, a rise and a fall.)

Dark-shot eyes blink confusedly, his mouth slack and his lips swollen. He… wait. Poe. Poe hasn't come, and Kylo isn't sure if-- if he--

The words aren't spoken aloud. Kylo isn't brave enough. Dark Lord of the Sith, Master of the Knights of Ren, grandson to Darth Vader himself and he has to resort to a quiet little push of a mental voice when he asks: _Would you… like to fuck me?_ He almost doesn't even manage that, but he's trying his damndest. He's terrified Poe will laugh at him for the offer, or tell him he's dumb, or that doesn't he know you never trade places, or something else he hasn't yet worked out. But he swallows that down, looking like a broken wreck who _very much would like to offer_ , who doesn't know the slightest thing about sexual etiquette and mostly just wants to make his lover happy. 

The words in his head take Poe by surprise – though he realises they shouldn't – and he smiles. It isn't amusement, though, or anything so callous, but a simple kind of joy. He would never have asked, never have presumed. He'd be more than happy even if the relationship never flips that way – because how can a man getting the kind of sex he's getting ever not be happy? – but, on the other hand… he does want this. Again, not to presume, not to push, but so that he can show Kylo how good it is.

"Of course I would," he whispers, softly, against the other man's lips. "So long as you want me to… of course I would. I told you, I love you."

Fingertips trace careful, abstract patterns over Kylo's shoulder. "But you tell me if you want me to stop. You promise?" He wouldn't have it any other way. He knows the other man had never done any of this before a few days ago, and he won't push any harder than he's sure he should. In this respect, surrendering is much easier. Leaving all the choice, all the impetus, in the other man's hands, knowing that – whatever happens – it will be right. But this…

The first response Kylo thinks of is probably unhelpful in the extreme, and is something along the lines of: ' _the Dark Side is fuelled with pain and pain will make me stronger and I will not run from it_ '. That's likely not a good thing to say when you're trying to get your – ah – boyfriend to top you, is it? 

So instead he shakes his head, then nods it, not quite sure what he's attempting to communicate, but trying all the same. "Yes, I mean. If you want to. I do." He does. He's pretty damn sure he does. He wants to show Poe that he's as prepared to offer everything he has as Poe himself is, and also he thinks maybe Poe might miss it on some level? Or also possibly that if it feels good for him, that it might feel good in reverse? Or…

He's even more awkward now than he was the first time they had sex. Power-plays and dominance and pain are easier to handle than tenderness and affection and give-and-take. He's been so long in the world of the Dark Side that his whole mentality is somewhat… skewed away from the norm. 

"I'll tell you if I need you to stop, but I won't. Need you to. I want… I want to… I want to show you. I want to show you how much I love you. Trust you. **Need** you." And after his heart, his loyalty and his life, the only thing Kylo has left to offer him is this. 

Eyes close, pressed tight, so tight he sees lights before he opens them again. "I apologise that I am not a… polished and skilful bedmate. But I am… prepared… to… try. Anything. That you would like. If you do not… if you do not… mind that I am… inexperienced. I want to please you. To satisfy you. To…" He wants to learn every last little thing, and how can he do that without flinging himself into the arena? How can he work out how best to make Poe's toes curl if he's never admitted his own ignorance and acknowledged it enough to work with it? It's quite one thing saying you've had no sexual partners before, but another thing entirely admitting that you're just plain stupid when it comes to what feels good. Or what is normal. Or… any of it. 

"…be worthy of you." 

" _Kylo_ ," Poe breathes, softly. He has the innate ability to make his voice sound like sex itself when he does that, even though he isn't consciously aware of it. "How can you even think that you aren't? I'm the one not worthy of you. And don't worry about your inexperience. You're a _frighteningly_ quick learner. So if you need this… it's yours. I told you, _anything_. I meant it."

He kisses the man beneath him, gentle and careful, taking his time with it. Making it as good as he can. There's a difference between being on top and being in control, and he wants Kylo to see that. Wants him to be free to enjoy this.

Poe just doesn't understand how wonderful he is. Kylo worries about that. Sure, he's a Sith Lord (or near enough), but he's also… a Sith Lord. And a monumental disappointment to every side of his family. And… any number of other things. And Poe? Poe goes toe to toe with people, armed only with the good grace the Maker gave him, his heart and his wits. He knows which of them is braver, and which of them is stronger, and it certainly isn't the man currently lying on his back.

His hands go up to wrap around Poe's neck, the fingers trailing at his nape but not applying any force. He's not trying to choke him, though maybe remind him that he could. A smile, and he uses the Force to ruffle through his hair, trying to show that he's okay with this. That he's getting used to the idea of soft kisses; warm, broken little noises. 

Pacing is key, here, Poe knows that. Too fast and it will look like he's rushing. Too slow and he worries the other man might question how much he really wants this. So, even though the kissing is lovely, he breaks it off and slides lower again – fingertips dragging over skin – he can start tugging Kylo's pants right down. And if he happens to kiss and lap at his lover's cock for just a quick moment in the process, well, who could blame him?

Preparation is also key. He reaches over to the bag of supplies, locating their makeshift lubricant and slicking some over two of his own fingers, urging the other man to part his legs more at the same time.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, because 'relax' sounds so clinical, and he knows it won't be that easy. "So beautiful. So _powerful_. I'm the luckiest man in the galaxy…"

He slips his hand between the other man's legs, stroking gently just behind his balls, whilst his other hand traces almost soothingly along Kylo's thigh. Poe looks up at the man, watching him, taking cues from his movement, from his breathing, and then – very, very slowly – he starts to push a single finger into his lover.

Kylo actually complains with a little huff when Poe touches his cock again. It's still too sensitive, and the sensations are a bit on the raw side of good. But the complaining is just because he likes to complain, and not because he actually objects. If he did, it would be a much less pleasant sound instead of the petulant, fake-upset one he utters.

Awkwardly, at Poe's urging, Kylo lets his knees fall further apart. Then he tries to walk his feet up towards his backside, so he can lift his ass, tilt his waist a bit more. He's not quite relaxed enough to just bend in half, and there's rather a lot of him _to_ bend, but he can make this as easy as he has the capability to. 

He's about to scoff at the praise (brushing it off, embarrassed and pleased in one) when Poe gets that look in his face and he knows not to even try. He stops breathing. Stops breathing and – fighting a tiny little internal yelp of terror – he nods and knows he's going to do it. He's going to do it. He's going to… Poe's finger is warm and slick from their supply of suitable goop. It's not that big, not on its own. It doesn't even hurt when it pushes into him, and he kind of wonders why not? Is it because he's going slow, or is it because Kylo's brain isn't processing it yet?

He wiggles just slightly, brow folded up in concentration. The tip of his tongue pokes out, and he tries to squeeze and squirm around it, but that just makes it feel stranger. Kind of nice, but really, really weird. When it doesn't move it's like a warm, full sensation, but when either of them do move, it tangles over his nerve-endings and makes him gasp in shock. **Pleased** shock. 

"…more?" 

Poe looks very pleased with himself. He grins up at the other man, fucking him a few more times with just that single finger, and then – the act given away in advance by the fact he bites his lip in anticipation – he slides the second finger in alongside it, before starting to fuck his lover with both at once, firm and slow to begin with, but gradually speeding up when he's confident Kylo isn't going to object.

And… Force alive, this is so unbelievably hot. He can feel how the other man is gradually giving way to the very real pleasure, and he loves knowing it's because of him. Loves knowing that Kylo trusts him enough to let him do this, trusts him enough to be so open and vulnerable around him, especially when he could easily have gotten away with never doing it.

"How does that feel?" he whispers. Because of course he was going to slip a question in there too.

Kylo's ears go bright red when he's pushed to extremis, something he's always been self-conscious about. His whole face feels like a prickly, stinging heat has slapped him across the cheeks, but that's nothing compared to the feel of a second finger inside of him.

Still it doesn't hurt, but it definitely feels a lot more intense. So does the movement. Poe's steady fucking makes his gut kind of clench inside, makes his thighs tremble with the sharp, bright, electric-feel of it. He whimpers, un-Sithly, and tries to move in counterpoint; tries to push down when Poe slides his digits in, tries to get him to go harder, faster. His balls sort of ache weirdly, and his cock gives a valiant little twitch at the blossoming, spreading heat between his thighs. 

He decides to go all in, then. As if he wasn't already, but he picks his heels up and he wraps his legs around his lover's waist, clawing at the ground with one hand, the other clutching for Poe's hair. "…feels… feels… _more_?" The word is almost a plea, and he realises he hasn't properly answered the question, but it's getting hard to think straight. No pun intended.

"Feels… s-s-strange but… good, I-- I can s-see why you… why you like it so much. Feels…" His eyes blink the fuzziness away. "Closer. Like. Like…" Like he's baring more than just his hole to him. To be fair, Poe knows him better than anyone – even Luke, even Snoke – but it's still another level, this. Something intensely private, intensely personal. "Love you." 

The pilot smiles. "I love you too. Now… let me show you just how much…"

He presses in to kiss Kylo again, firm but gentle, resting their foreheads close together for a long, long moment. And then, slowly – not wanting to leave the other man feeling bereft – he slides his fingers out, hand reaching to unfasten his own pants, working them down enough to free his very enthusiastic erection. He's so turned on right now, even the process of slicking his cock with more of the makeshift lubricant is a strange kind of torment, and he's glad when he can start moving into position. He slips in close, cock just pressing against the other man's entrance for a moment, before – not looking away from his eyes – Poe starts to push slowly, slowly inside.

And… he doesn't stop until he's all the way in. And, from the look on his face as he does, he is already high as a kite. Or an X-Wing.

" _Fuck_ , Kylo, you feel _amazing_ ," he gasps.

When Poe makes as if he's going to – he's – they're – (Kylo's mind just can't join up the dots. It can see all the dots, but they're just flashing, blazing points that don't resolve into co-ordinates or even letters). But when it becomes clear he's going to… to… do it… Kylo tilts his hips still further, trying to be as physically open as possible. He grabs hold of Poe's upper arms, his neck, anything he can paw roughly at, and the moment before he penetrates him, he hates him. Hates him in a way that's only love, and in a way that means he has to finish what he damn well started. Now. 

It does sort of, not-quite sting. More a pressure, than anything else. A slick, full length of cock pushed up inside him where there's never been anything like it in his life. Kylo's almost certain that if he _had_ ever had sex with someone else, that this particular act would have been right off the cards. Which is good. It means… it means it's special. It means something, or it does to him. It means a promise, and a certainty, and a pact that's sealed. 

" _Fuck me_ ," he whispers, voice raw with longing. "Make me yours, like you're mine. Make me see… make me **feel** it." The connection there, again, bright and glowing and as radiant as ten suns. Hotter than a nova, more interwound than two sides of an archway, dependent upon the other to stay erect. He claws gently at hair and ears, fighting to stay here with all he is. "Make love to me, Poe. Show me how good I can feel. Show me… I can… I can have good things. I can have **you**. Please. I'm begging you." 

Poe is almost overwhelmed by how hot that is: not just the physicality of it (though that part is nigh-on heavenly) but also the other man's words. The look in his eyes. The need in his voice. He himself may be a born leader outside of the bedroom, but he's every bit a follower inside of it, and he knows that won't ever change. And yet… the way this feels, the way he can tell how much of an effect it's having on the magnificent, powerful force of nature spread beneath him… well, that is still more gratifying than he can put into words.

"You can have good things," he says, softly, somehow keeping his voice from sounding as wrecked as it should. "You can have _anything_. When I told you I loved you… I meant it. All of it. All of you. Don't for one moment forget that. Don't for one moment think you're anything less."

He presses kisses to the other man's jaw, almost shyly, the action a stark counterpoint to the movement of his hips, growing faster, firmer, pushing them both towards even greater pleasure. And oh, but that's going to be quite a thing, for all concerned.

Kylo's hands aren't cruel, but they are hungry. Messy, clawing little touches that shake with emotion, with _need_ and _lust_ and a soul-deep aching sense of **belonging**. Of how right this is, of how perfect they are. If he couldn't see the fine threads that glow between them, he'd maybe think he was hallucinating it. Survival instinct on a planet designed to push him to the extreme, but…

…no. He'd felt drawn to Poe on Jakku. Felt _more_ drawn to him aboard the _Finalizer_. Been two steps away from fucking into his mind and snarling his ownership on his shuttlecraft, and now he was on his back, squirming and writhing and trying to tense and squeeze with his thighs and his ass-cheeks as Poe Dameron fucks him. Really fucks him. He arches up to bite at the join of Poe's shoulder to his neck, sucking a darkening bruise into his skin to urge him faster. His hands start to claw, not to get him to _stop_ , but because he realises he can do that. He can let Poe fuck him, and he can still draw sweet pleasure-pain. It's all one continuum, one shining ball of possibilities, and he can bite up to his ear as he grabs Poe's ass in both hands and uses his own strength to make him push in deeper, harder. 

"Fuck _me_ like you mean it," he growls. And there it is: the command. Leaden, heavy with the expectation it will be listened to, obeyed. He doesn't have to override the man's will with his own, not using the Force. He can command, and Poe will obey. 

_Yes_. Poe's eyes go as dark as night, and a renewed smile crosses his lips: the smile of a man who can have everything. The feeling only lasts a few seconds but whilst it's there, it fills him up like fire and thunder, spreading through his whole form, bright and undeniable.

"As you wish," he says, leaning right in, speaking against Kylo's lips, his voice obedient, but not full-on surrendering. And all certainty. " _Master_."

He's quick to do as he's told, though, bracing himself more firmly over his lover and starting to fuck him with renewed vigour, hips snapping back and forth, giving it all he's got. Giving _him_ all he's got, over and over, as relentless a force of nature as the one he's fallen for.

And then… he slows. He's close, but he slows. The words in his mind suddenly clamouring to get out. "Go into my head," he says, half insistence, half pleading. A man who will snap and surrender completely, but not without a definitive push. "I want you to. Not to control, but just to _feel_. So that you're in me, whilst I'm in you."

Kylo revels in the word, the title: _Master_. It means more than it does from the Knights sworn to his command, means more than it could on anyone's lips but Poe's. It fits there, it belongs on his tongue. They're one, one glorious balance, one fulcrum point between the Light and the Dark, the cruel and the kind, the loving and the hating, the giving and the taking. Kylo feels it snap inside his chest, like the two halves of a lock clicking into place.

Poe. His Poe. His. 

He isn't even confused when the other man slows, when he pauses so close to the finish line. He can taste the other's keen arousal, can feel the way his thighs twitch and his balls ache and his body yearns for that final push over the edge. But he knows this has to be right, it all has to be right. He nods, and he grabs the side of Poe's face in both hands, holding his forehead pressed lightly to his own. 

In he goes. Poe doesn't resist in the slightest, his mind letting him inside just as easily as Kylo's body opens to him. He can feel the delight and the adoration, the sense of happiness and safety and _home_ he knows is mirrored in his own heart. He rakes through harder, and finds the sparks of sensation in his body. It only takes a little work to nudge them higher, to make things firework inside of the other man.

"Take me," Kylo insists. "Take it all. You're mine, and I am yours. **Fuck me** , Poe Dameron. Fuck your Sith Lord. You, who could make the Darkness bend around your Light." 

Once you've had sex with a Force-user, Poe thinks, you surely can't ever go back. Maybe that's part of why the Jedi of Old were so opposed to it: because, if it wasn't forbidden to them, they'd be lost to it forever. Lost to it, as Poe himself is, in the feeling of the other man slipping inside his head. It isn't at all like it felt when he did it to hurt. The push and the insistence and the pain are all absent and – though Poe can't deny he loves those things – it feels _right_ like this, right now. It needs to be this way: a closed connection, an infinite loop. Need. Ownership. Love.

It's too much. This alone could rip him apart. This, coupled with the physical side… will destroy him. Destroy him and remake him and destroy him again, over and over, and he wants it so badly, so intensely, so _much_ , that all other thought is nothing but a whisper and a breath, a thousand miles away.

" _ **Yes**_ ," he gasps, moving his hips in earnest again. "Yes. Yours. Kylo. Master. I… I…"

And it all snaps, a moment of ceaseless, unshakeable ecstasy that breaks into a whole-body, whole-mind climax, pleasure ripping through Poe so hard and so fast, it's like being smacked squarely in the chest, like having any notion of oxygen removed from his world. He still cries out, though: a single, gloriously-ruined shout that leaves his throat raw and his lungs burning and still doesn't go all the way to expressing how he feels in this precise moment.

Perhaps nothing ever could. Nothing… except the inside of his head, right here, right now.

Kylo's body is already wrung dry, but that's okay. He can feel the pleasure of their rough fucking without needing to spill his seed. He can feel the drag and slam and flare of heat and need between his legs, the man riding his ass for all he's worth. It still feels as good as if he hadn't already come down Poe's throat, and maybe if they do it again they'll do this first. He likes the idea of having the come fucked out of him, like he does to Poe.

But now, in this instant, this is what they're supposed to do. This, and only this. He smiles, broad and peaceful and loving and sure. He feels the way the water smacks into the cliffside of Poe's mind, the bright, vibrant, _aliveness_ of it all. He feels how Poe slots into holes long since cold and empty, and he feels how the surety of his own love and control, and pain and pleasure… all these things slide into Poe's empty spaces, too. 

His eyes are watering when Poe's climax fades from his body, but he doesn't let up the presence in his mind. Poe's still buried deep inside his own frame, and Kylo can tell Poe needs this to go on for a while longer, yet. To be fair, so does Kylo. He lets his own lashes touch his cheeks as he moves to place chaste, caring little kisses over his lover's face. "That's it," he murmurs, between licks and lips. "That's it. My heart. I'm yours, you're mine. It's okay. It's right. It's what's meant to be, and I will never leave you, never betray you, never abandon you. My perfect pilot…" he pushes in a wave of reassurance and of belief, as easy as he could send in pain and doubt and misery. He needs Poe to see how vital, how essential, how awe-inspiring he is. How **important**. To Kylo, nothing else comes close to meaning as much as he does. And it won't. Ever.

He's certain. 

Poe curls in very tightly, locking his arms around Kylo, collapsing against him, still in him. He's shaking from head to toe, lost, wrecked, and he's sure you're not 'supposed' to feel like this when you've been – for all intents and purposes – topping someone. But… he stopped doing what he was 'supposed' to do quite a while back.

And the sensations the other man is pushing into him; the thoughts, the feelings, they soothe over lingering cracks at the back of Poe's mind. Fear about where all this is going. Alarm that maybe he's just one insignificant piece in a much larger game. Maybe he was when this first started, but now… now he's sure he's anything but. And whilst that's worrying in a whole new way, it's also exciting, and wonderful and hopeful and… everything. It's everything.

"You feel so right," he murmurs, still curled in against Kylo's chest. "I hope… that was what you needed." He knows it was, but he still wants to say as much. Wants to make it clear that this, all of this, is for the other man. His heart.

"Yes," Kylo replies, immediately, the wash of feeling just taking all those surface emotions and letting Poe in, letting him in like he'd be able to do himself if he had the Force. He doesn't, and Kylo doesn't mind making up for the fact. "Oh yes. It was wonderful, Poe. You… really are a good teacher."

His tone is only mildly teasing, and he drops his chin on his pilot's head, wrapping him up in what remains of his limbs and clothes. He feels like he could run a million miles, but also like he'd rather not move at all. His thighs sting with the pleasant buzz of after-exertion, and Poe's dick is still nuzzled inside of him. He needs to remember that. Needs to remember that staying locked together immediately after is downright amazing. 

"The Force gave you to me. The galaxy made you for me. You're all I ever needed, and I didn't even know it until… until you leaned forwards." Such a small thing, a tiny memory, but one he can't shake. Poe had been pushing at his boundaries even then, sassing him the moment they met and not backing down even when Kylo took every bit of secret about the map from him. "Thank you. I know you say I shouldn't say it, but I must. Thank you. You are… you are what love _is_ , Poe. I would fall all over again, if only to see you smile." 

"You won't have to fall again," Poe says, soft and sure. "Next time… I'll hold you up. Fly you to the stars, if that's what it takes."

He smiles against the other man's chest, closing his eyes for a moment. Enjoying the warmth and the soft contact and the lingering thrum of exertion, to say nothing of the feeling of closeness. If, just a few days ago, you'd told him he'd be sprawled in a half-naked tangle with Kylo Ren, making vast declarations of love, he would have called you insane at best. And yet… here he is. Sometimes the universe knows what it's doing, even when he doesn't.

"On some level, I knew I wanted you all along," he admits. "Not consciously. Not until… not until you told me to kneel. But the thoughts were there beforehand. I… wanted you. Wanted you to notice me. Wanted you to take me. Wanted… to push you. To make you push back."

A snort, and Kylo nips gently at his ear. "You definitely pushed me. Do you know how many have tried, Poe? The number is not a high one. Most… saw my mask, heard my name, and cowered themselves into death or despair…" 

He'd known this one was different, the minute he sparked against him that first time. He'd known the Stormtroopers – Phasma's soldiers – would never break his spirit. It had been a pleasant relief and confirmation, to have the pleasure of Poe's mind for himself. "You were special. You were a _challenge_. You made me **want** to have to break you." Rather than do it as a sense of duty, which life had increasingly become in the First Order.

He realises he's thinking about that life in the past tense, properly, now. He might be planning his coup from within, but he… knows. It's not permanent. A cover, a bluff, a wall and a shield. Not a home. 

"You do know that… when you go back… no one will trust your judgement, don't you?" 

"I know they'll doubt me," Poe answers, softly. He's been dwelling on this since they first sealed their union. Since he first realised he could never give Kylo up, not even for the Resistance. "It will be difficult at first. They'll think you broke my will. That you're controlling me. But… they're wrong. Even though you could do it. They're wrong. And… I'll prove it to them. News of the Starkiller Base will be too big, too serious, to be anything but top priority. We'll have to scramble to deal with it. They won't have time to stop and worry about me, not before you and I both prove our word. And when I stand and tell them that Starkiller Base was destroyed because of you… it will change everything."

Plus… General Organa will vouch for him. He knows it. Not because he has carte blanche with his leader, but because turning up and telling her about all of _this_ will be more than enough to get the general's attention. _I'm sleeping with your son_. He won't say it like that – by the Force, no – but… that's the long and the short of it. And Leia Organa – wonderful, brilliant Leia Organa – won't pass up the chance to have her son come home, even in some small way.

She won't. She'll take the risk too. Poe is sure of it. He _has_ to be sure of it.

"I'll still need to remain in the Order, until I can get to Snoke," Kylo says. "I'll need to maintain my cover for as long as possible, although… perhaps with an exit strategy in place, just in case…" 

He wonders if the dreamscape was more than just that. He knows the Force sometimes allows snatches of possible futures, potential truths. 

"I… won't be welcome with the Resistance, though. Even if it all goes as we plan. I… have too much blood on my hands to walk amongst your people." Your people. Not his. 

Poe lifts his head, meeting Kylo's eyes at once. "I'll _make_ you welcome. And anyone who takes issue with that will answer to _me_." There's fierceness in his tone, now, albeit defensive, not aggressive. He may not be a Sith Lord or a General, but he's still a Resistance Commander, and, right now, it shows.

It hides a whole world of fear, too. Fear at what he's going to have to do to sell this to the rest of the Resistance. General Organa will listen, yes, but the others… Admiral Statura will worry he's lost his mind. Admiral Ackbar will be sure of it. And as for the other pilots… as for Snap and Testor and…

No. No. Poe can convince them. Poe can convince them all. They'll baulk at first, but in the end, they'll see he's right. Because he is.

Kylo isn't so sure. Poe might be ready to forgive him his sins, but there's deaths, personal deaths. Friends. Family. He's taken them all out, over the years. You don't just get to wipe the slate clean with a single act of contrition, no matter how sincere, how sweeping. 

"We shall see when Snoke is dead. If the Order is routed deep enough, there need be no more Resistance anyway." 

"Very true," Poe has to agree. What will it even become, when they reach that point? Do they go back to the Republic? Or… something else? "But whatever happens, one thing will not change: I will never abandon you. No matter what anyone else thinks."

He sighs, softly, and drops his head. "Sometimes I wonder if life in this galaxy of ours will ever be simple. Although… maybe people like us wouldn't know what to do if it was."

"You would be bored," Kylo agrees. "Without missions to fly. Without danger to court. You would… not be you." 

And who would Kylo Ren be? Without… without Snokes, without Huxes, without any of this? Would he still be Kylo Ren? He'd never have wound up here, but… would he have been satisfied with the life his family wanted for him? He doesn't think so, but the thought is a chilling one, all the same. 

"Kylo…" Poe purrs, resting his forehead against his lover's. "The galaxy would never be so quiet. Even if we take down the entire First Order and institute a new era of peace and justice that would put even the Old Republic to shame… there will still be enemies at our door. Maybe not enemies with planet-destroying superweapons… but I could live without those. I'll never be bored. And besides… I have you."

"I can keep you occupied, at least a little," the Sith agrees, rubbing his nose over Poe's shorter one. "And yes, I suppose you're right. Even if there isn't an Order or an Empire, there's always some faction. Mandalorians, Spice Runners, Hutts…" 

The world has a tendency to spiral towards the bad, after all. 

"Precisely. The sort of people a dashing pilot and his Sith Lord boyfriend could go up against with ease…"

Poe grins. It's just a dream right now. But the line between dreams and reality has never been more blurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: We have more fanart to share! It's from this very chapter, drawn by ElvenNekkies, and it's smokin' hot...
> 
> Credit and larger version: [@elvennekkies](http://elvennekkies.tumblr.com/post/143158446457/attempted-depiction-of-my-fave-parts-from-fallacy)


	14. The Narrow Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings to you all! We're back again! Have another chapter to bring a little joy to your Monday!
> 
> And, whilst you're at it, have a look at the awesome fanart that TheJuggernaut drew us for THAT scene in Chapter 4:
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Credit: [@itspronounceddee-ann-uh](http://itspronounceddee-ann-uh.tumblr.com/post/138002487873/an-homage-to-davechicken-and-shadowsides-amazing)
> 
> Squeaking noises intensify! <3

It's the next morning.

The sun has risen over the ancient Sith temple, over the vast amphitheatre at the centre of the long-forgotten testing grounds. In the middle of the amphitheatre, light glints off the surface of the crashed escape pod, glittering as dawn slips into day.

BB-8 wanders almost idly around, a short way off. In the time they've been here, the little astromech must have explored every inch of the central arena – given that it can't go any further out – but it still pokes about as if looking for something it missed. Some long-lost secret.

Just beyond the pod, close to the remnants of last night's campfire, Kylo Ren and Poe Dameron are watching the far edge of the amphitheatre where – if the pattern is being followed – the next archway will open up at some point today, beckoning them into whatever lurks beyond.

They've both been awake for some time already: washed, dressed, breakfasted, and now they're here, Kylo sitting up with Poe curled at his side, head resting on the Sith Lord's lap, fingers in the pilot's hair.

Poe feels strangely peaceful, even though he knows what's coming will likely test them just as hard – if not more so – than what's gone before. But for now, he can just enjoy the moment, and that makes all the difference.

"I am surprised we never met," Kylo says, as he combs his fingers through his resting lover's curls, chasing the warp and weft of them. "Perhaps we did, in the distance, but I think – I _know_ I would have felt you, felt drawn to you. Even if I didn't understand why, or how." 

"You were the son of two generals," Poe points out, not at all begrudgingly. "I was the son of a pilot and a soldier. They all fought for the same cause… but never quite in the same world." Still, not a hint of resentment. He knows full-well how and why hierarchies work, and he believes very strongly in this one.

A pause. "I remember you, though." Maybe he shouldn't admit it. Maybe he should have admitted it days ago. "I remember you, from the days when you lived on Yavin 4."

"That… was a long time ago." A very long time. Another him. Another self, another life. "And I might have been Han and Leia's son, but I…" Kylo shrugs. "I don't think I was who you think I was, back then. The bubble around me wasn't one of privilege. It was… my mother. She was trying to protect me." 

"I know," Poe tells him, quietly. "I don't mean to… overstep. I really don't. I just meant that… I remember you. I was impressed by you even then. Not because of your family… OK, not _just_ because of your family… but because of _you_."

"I was nothing to be impressed by," Kylo demurs, and it's clear he's not offended. "You can speak your mind with me, Poe. If nothing else, I think I'll live with your honesty. Even if it ever gets hard to hear." A stoop, a press of lips to his forehead.

"All I meant was… I was not a… I was not someone you would have wanted to know. I was strong in the Force, but…" Well. Everyone knows the basics of it, don't they? The end result. The massacre. "I changed my name for many reasons. One of them was to leave that part of me behind. To leave as much as I could, and… become someone else. Become… me. It did not work out as well as I had hoped." 

Poe wonders if it would have made a difference if he _did_ know Kylo back then, and it scares him a little to think that the answer is probably _no_. He wishes there was some way to undo what the other man has been through, but there isn't. There is just this, just here and now. Just what comes after.

"Well, I like who you are now," he points out, very honestly. "So maybe it worked out better than you think."

Not to belittle the road the other man had to walk to get here, of course, and that much is clear in his voice. Simply… affirmation of the person he has become in the end. In the last few days, perhaps.

Kylo smiles, the affection genuine. "If I hadn't – if… things had been different… I wouldn't be here. With you. Right now. And although I'd have chosen another route to get here, I'm not unhappy with my destination." 

He glances up at the next door, wondering. "Our next test should be: _'Through power, I gain victory'_. I suspect that could well be linked to our eventual goal, but… you never know with these tests, do you…?"

"You really don't," Poe concurs, eyes flicking in the direction of the next arch as well. "I guess victory has to bode well, though…"

He certainly hopes as much. Passion, strength and power have been challenging enough.

As if on cue, the door slowly slides open. Kylo holds Poe down, not letting him get up straight away. "Victory can wait for a moment," he rumbles, and bends to kiss him again. It's a slow, caring kiss. A brush of lips and a hint of tongue and a smile when his head lifts.

"I need something to fight for, after all." Someone. 

"And you have him," comes the pilot's answer, slow and easy, understanding without Kylo needing to say the rest. Enjoying the attention, before they have to dive back into this.

Resisting the urge to linger here all morning, in case that's… well. Un-Sithly.

"But the sooner we finish the test, the sooner I can remind my something of how important he is." Slightly smoother. Sith have better lines. 

*** 

The newly-opened archway leads into another large section of the sprawling temple. BB-8 follows them as far as possible, bleeping mournfully when the invisible blockage holds it back, and the two men continue on along the passageway on their own.

The passage itself is similar to the one from the second day: fairly wide and fairly high, with that strange, bioluminescent substance on some of the walls, filling the air with an ethereal glow and otherworldly shadows.

For the moment, all is quiet and still. Poe looks sideways at Kylo. "Can you sense anything? Any indications in the Force as to what we're about to face?"

"I…" Kylo's eyes close, his head tilting, sending a cascade of dark hair over one cheek as he tries to find something to work with. "There is… much here. Great power. It's stronger than how it felt in the previous chambers, when I had the ability to feel for it."

His mind stretches out, thinner, trying to spread out to find anything at all. A sigh, and he pulls back into his own head, leaving only the barest brush against the outer world in place. "I suspect we will find out, soon enough."

At the end of the passage there's suddenly a drop, and Kylo puts his hand out to stop Poe from going over it. A vast chasm, deeper than it has any right to be. And nothing to say how someone is meant to go from one side to the other, as it's too wide to jump and--

Oh. Kylo reaches out with the Force, finding… the thinnest thread of tensile cord: a tightrope. He reaches out with one foot and presses down, checking how strong it is. It barely bounces, and it seems fit to hold his weight. 

"...this is going to be tricky," he mumbles. "It's too fine to hang from it by your hands. I suspect you'd need to bind your palms up to prevent it slicing through the skin and straight to the bone." 

The pilot gives him a very dry look. "Contrary to popular belief, I can only actually fly with the aid of a ship of some kind. So how exactly do you expect me to get over there?"

It's a long way across. And down. And the walls here are incredibly smooth and flat, making any attempt to climb around – like they did in that previous test – obviously, deliberately impossible.

Look down. Back up. Down. Up. And now, at Kylo. "...There's no chance of me getting over there. Not without the Force. Which I don't have."

Is that the purpose of this test? To weed out anyone not truly suited to be a Sith? Anyone not gifted with a connection to the Force? It would make sense.

"...I… could attempt to carry you, if you… sit very still?" Kylo suggests. He's really not sure how else they could do it. "I'd be concerned about dropping you if I tried to levitate you that distance, and I'd have to be standing still to be in with a chance. So if I did drop you… I'd be too far away to catch you." Physically. 

Damn Sith and their damned tests. 

"I assume we can't make some kind of… makeshift cart to get across. I think our best bet is for you to sit on my back." And this brings back uncomfortable Jedi training memories indeed. 

"...Whilst you walk a tightrope over an unfathomably deep pit?" Poe concludes, that dry tone still in place. Mostly to hide the apprehension. "Kylo, even with the Force… should you do this? Or… should I let you go on alone?"

It's obvious in his voice how unhappy he would be with that, though. Which… leaves him with only the first option.

"Do you honestly believe I'm going to leave you _anywhere_ on your own, Poe Dameron?" Kylo actually rolls his eyes at the idea. "We do this together, or we don't do it at all. If I'm half the man everyone seems to think I'm capable of being… I can do this."

He can. Right? Yes. Admittedly he's never used the Force to traverse a ravine on a tiny band of durasteel rope, but… that doesn't mean he can't do it. "We're bound. You're coming. I won't take no for an answer." 

Despite it all, Poe's eyes flash with happiness. "By the Maker, that's hot," he says, with a grin. "Then… yes. All right. Let's do this."

He moves over to Kylo, who drops down enough to let Poe climb up onto his back (again). He settles into place, trying to lock himself firmly into position without obstructing the other man's field of motion.

"How do you cope with being this tall?" he deadpans. Humour is sometimes the most effective shield.

"By honing my rage against doorframes that are too low, beds that are too short, and shoes that do not fit. I suspect the Dark Side in my family comes with a height requirement: 'you must be this tall to go evil'." Kylo shuffles them about a bit, trying to get as comfortable as possible.

He puts his foot out, testing the give again, making sure. If they fall… they're falling together. The symbolism is not lost on him. "You can talk, if it helps. I might not be able to answer until we get to the other side." 

Kylo reaches into himself, finding a shred of fear. Fear is a Jedi's enemy, but he thinks that's stupid. Fear is a natural response to a possible harm or loss, and it keeps you from doing the ridiculous by reminding you of consequence. It doesn't make you _weak_ unless you let it. The first foot goes on, and then the second. He stays there for a moment, ready to leap (or throw Poe) backwards if his footing goes. Focus on the breathing, focus on the Force. His eyes close again, letting his other sense take over: a second step, a third. It's torturously slow, and you might mistake it for Jedi peace, but it isn't calm that motivates him to control every last tremor of his thighs, or the hands that sweat slightly on Poe's knees. 

_Don't look down_ , Poe thinks to himself. Heights are all well and good, but this is a little much. He can't do anything to help, not really, and he doesn't want to distract the other man during what is a literal life-or-screaming-death moment. That would bad. Distraction would be bad. Falling would be bad.

Then he starts to wonder if Kylo can hear or detect any of this in the Force, and promptly desists. Maybe he should try something more helpful instead.

"One day, when all this is over… I'd love to take you out flying," he says. He's been thinking about it for a while, and now seems as good a time as any to mention it. Plus, he thinks the positive emotion will help, if Kylo picks up on it. "I don't just mean in a shuttle of some sort. I mean a fighter. If I can get my hands on one of the S3 Y-Wings, it would be perfect. They may not have the grace of an X-Wing, but they're sturdy little things, and they're built for two. You might enjoy it. And I can do loops in high-atmosphere. That's always fun."

Ships? Really? Loops. Going upside down. When he's trying to focus on staying level and not going upside down. The negative side of Kylo's mind flares out first, and he has to stand still while he gets it under his control.

Still. Breathe. Feel. Do. 

"As long as you do not expect _me_ to do the flying. That part of the hallucination, or… prophecy… was real." Kylo hasn't tried to fly a ship for over fifteen years, and with good reason. He's one of life's passengers, when it comes to vehicles. Another step, another… Poe's trying to bond, and that can only lead to him feeling better, feeling more stable and secure. His feet sweat inside his boots, and he runs a tongue over his upper lip. 

"Of course not. All I would want you to do is sit back and enjoy it. And then…" Possibly talking about flying isn't the _best_ choice in this situation, and Poe decides to reel it in a little. "...I could find us somewhere quiet to put down. Somewhere well-away from prying eyes. Somewhere in the shadow of the trees…"

He's thinking of Yavin 4, of course he is, though he doesn't name it out loud, in case the other man's negative connotations with the place flare up and distract him. But 'in the shadow of the trees' could be anywhere. Even here.

"You like the outdoors, then?" Kylo asks, opting for slightly safer territory as he inches his way step by gruelling step over this death-trap wire. Clearly to be a Sith you have to have excellent calves. Possibly to look good in the boots they favour. 

Maybe halfway, now, though it's hard to tell. He daresn't risk looking back, only forwards. His hands grip Poe's legs a little tighter, and he tries not to let the shaking sensation in his spine and knees travel up and into his lover. "As long as you also like a nice, firm bed. And possibly also an interrogation chamber. And the inside of a cockpit." Kylo might be misbehaving, just a little. 

Poe grins, even though the other man can't see. He tries to keep a lid on the strongest of the emotions, not wanting to be overly-distracting, but it's hard to suppress it all. "I like the outdoors, yes," he answers. "Forests, mountains. Not so keen on deserts right now, but that could change. And yes, I also like a nice, firm bed. The inside of a cockpit. The floor of an ancient Sith Temple. And… possibly also an interrogation chamber."

By the way the thoughts inside his head flare at that last one, 'possibly' is an understatement. Not that he's quite sure how to react to this one yet.

"Should we start a To Do list? Or, more accurately: 'Where To Do' list?" That is so not helping Kylo's focus, but it is making him walk a little faster. And try to ignore the stirrings between his legs. Now is _not_ a good time to get turned on. Damnit.

What he wouldn't give for even a tiny ship right now. He could probably hold on to the outside of an X-Wing and get flown across, and shoot through some walls, and then get back to the part where he's making Poe scream. "A shower. Warm water, hands on tiles, watching the water slide through your hair… slammed over a desk with a rag in your mouth so you don't scream and alert everyone in the building to how hard you're taking it…"

Definitely needs to walk faster. Force damnit. 

Normal people do not try to distract their lover whilst he is carrying them over a ravine, aided by the Force. This may be because normal people do not have these sorts of problems, but still. Surely it cannot be wise.

"...chained spread-eagle in the centre of a dark room, naked and helpless and completely at your non-existent mercy…"

...whoops, said that one out loud…

A low hiss of wanting, and Kylo definitely is walking a lot more stiff-legged, and somehow now it's become a 'don't let your boner swing too far to one side and overbalance you both' instead of just 'don't fall'. 

"I'll take every last one of your senses from you. Steal your vision, your hearing. Render you incapable of anything but _feeling_. You'll never know if the next touch will be agony or bliss, never know if it will be my tongue you feel or a vibroblade. You'll promise me the stars, but I'll already have them. You'll offer me your heart, but it is already mine. And all you'll be able to do is _take_ what I give to you, and hope it's enough." 

"By the Force, I hope this test doesn't take long…" Poe murmurs, now having very real difficulty concentrating. On anything. Possibly he should have just stuck to making comments about height…

The _wanting_ is radiating off him, now, but he tries to keep it down. Tries to focus on the moment. Tries to resist the urge to suggest other things, to see how Kylo reacts.

"So do I," Kylo rumbles, his voice lower with the unrepressed wanting. Is it normal to need to do it as often, as hard as they do? Does everyone go mad with it, and need to spend almost every waking moment in a tangled, sweaty, moaning heap?

Maybe he should steer them back to safety. "Did you volunteer… for Jakku?" 

"No," comes the pilot's answer, voice still a little hazy from the mental images he's left with. "General Organa asked me to go. Although, if she hadn't, I _would_ have volunteered then."

He wouldn't have had it any other way. The mission was too important: to the galaxy, to the Resistance, to Leia Organa. Plus, he'd been going slightly crazy on D'Qar. Needing to get offworld. Needing to _do something_.

"Looking for the next big thrill, the next… way to be a hero?" Kylo asks it without any judgement in his tone, just a quiet knowledge and understanding.

He remembers wanting to be a hero, too, after all. "Why didn't you run? I understand your ship was damaged… but you didn't flee. You might have escaped me, if you did." 

"Something like that," Poe admits. A lot like that, in truth. Things had been still and level for too long and he'd needed to be doing something to move them along. "And…" Softer, now. Remembering that night on Jakku. "...I didn't run because I couldn't just abandon those people. Because I couldn't back down and let the First Order walk all over us. Because I was trying to buy time for BB-8 to get away. Because…"

Silence, for a moment. "...Because I saw you there, and I wanted to show you what the Resistance is made of. What… I am made of."

Kylo pauses, one foot lifted, not even aware of how precarious his stance is because the physical side of things has gone so far into his hindbrain that now it's entirely a subconscious thing, the steps he takes. 

"Your survival instinct is somewhat warped, pilot." He starts to move again, almost to the edge. "The genuinely accepted response to witnessing mass-murder is normally only horror. Or did you think…" 

No. No. He walks faster. 

"...I tried to kill you, I know." Very soft. Very careful. Very much not a conversation to be having in midair over a ravine. "Or… that's what I thought I was doing at the time. You don't shoot a blaster-bolt at a man's head if you're not trying to hit him. But… on some level… I knew it would never strike home. Knew you would never let it. I guess… I wanted to get your attention."

It was a dangerous move, and Poe knows it. Maybe a stupid move. Definitely not a sensible one. But, in the heat of the battle, the heat of the moment… it had seemed like the right thing to do.

"I see." Kylo's not angry at the attempted murder, not in the slightest. Possibly because he was never really at any risk of death, so even if Poe had wanted it, it's sort of a moot point. He doesn't even sound upset at the thought, just… pondering. 

"I do not blame you, of course. For trying. Or for anything you've done. It… my… fight was with others. I let it… spill over into things I shouldn't have. So any retaliation is more than justified." It's something else Kylo wonders, when he reaches the other side of the ravine. One more step, two, and then he turns sideways on to the edge so Poe has somewhere safe to slip down from his back. 

Which Poe is more than grateful to do. Not because he doesn't like the physical contact – he does – but simply because hanging over that ravine was not fun.

And then, the preceding conversation having got the better of him, he pulls the other man in to kiss. Not trying to provoke anything – not in the midst of this test – but just for the sake of kissing.

"I'm happy with how things turned out," he says. " _Very_ happy. And that's the most important part."

"I'll hold you to the interrogation chamber promise, just so you know." Oh, will he ever. "And all of the other ones. Just… next time you want my attention, you can just call my name." It's a weak joke, but still.

They walk a little way from the edge, Kylo bending over in a sudden woosh of height to almost-nothing as he stretches his back and legs, hands sliding down his shins in the process. It wasn't the easiest of things to do, and that's just the first – hah – step. 

"Are you ready to continue?"

"I'll hold you to it as well," Poe replies, with a surprisingly wicked little smirk. "And… yes. I'm ready."

Ready, and silently hoping that what lies ahead will involve fewer deadly bottomless pits.

Is that too much for a guy to ask?


	15. The Long Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the second part of the fourth test, or In Which Kylo And Poe Continue To Have Serious Conversations At The Most Inappropriate Times...

The moment they enter the next chamber, Kylo curses in something that sounds suspiciously like Wookiee. Or as close to it as a Human can get. Can they not give him one easy room? One? Is that too much to ask for?

This room is just as big as the last, but there's grounding stations at regular intervals. Grounding stations… that flicker blue, Force lightning bolts. They crackle through the air, snapping and hissing angrily. 

"I bet you wish you were dating a Jedi, now," Kylo complains. 

Poe stares. A lot. Thinking… suddenly unhelpful things, that he forces down and replaces with more immediate concerns. Or tries to. "Not at all. I think this one will definitely require a Sith. Although…"

He looks at the arcs of lightning. Still trying to think only helpful things. "That's… Force lightning, right? Can you…" _sensible pilot voice, sensible pilot voice, sensible pilot voice,_ "...can you do that?"

"Not… really." Kylo's eyes dart away, embarrassed. "It is something the Supreme Leader said I must wait to learn. But I… I may have to try. If we're to get through that, I may have to… repel it with my own."

Which he doesn't have. Or… not really. A few flares around his worst (ahem) tantrums, but never anything focussed or controlled. "I suspect I might have to be very angry for this test to work." 

"I could shoot at you again," Poe suggests, on autopilot – without thinking about it – and then looks a mixture of roguish and contrite.

"I said angry, not aroused," is Kylo's equally sharp reply. One brow arches, and he steps as close to the edge of the room as he can risk. He's never… never managed to actually…

A hand reaches in, only to snap back out with a loud hiss of pain at the contact. Damnit. No. Again. He puts his hand back out and lets it hit his wrist and fingers, knees flexing and shoulders heaving under the agony. It curls up and into his whole arm, arcing towards his torso. Kylo growls, low and warning, and _shoves_ back with all he has. 

The lightning retreats, chased by a paler light that seems to emanate from the black-clad man. He's still shaking, still tense, but he's holding the single bolt back through sheer effort of will. It's only one damnable bolt, though, and there must be two columns of seven grounding stations between them and the other side of the room.

Now that is impressive to watch. Even given how difficult it obviously is, there's something _terrifyingly_ wonderful about what Kylo can do. About the idea of him just being able to _create_ something like that. Poe stares for a moment, mesmerised.

Although… he wonders if this is the right solution. It feels as though the test is asking for more. Or… for _different_.

"Will you be able to hold back enough of that energy to let us cross?" he asks.

Kylo's clearly shaking, his own ability in this area just not… honed enough. Frustration makes his power flare, but it's only a fever-bright spark and then he's falling back to safety, pulling his wrist in to rub the pain out.

"...I'm beginning to fear that I can't." He can admit that, admit that he's… not all-powerful. Not to his Knights, and rarely to the Supreme Leader, but to Poe… yes. He can. 

"Even if I can fight it off from myself, I don't know how I'd keep the bolts from hitting you. And believe me, they are not the kind of pain you would enjoy. Not…" he nods, "...that much of it." 

There's still a little flush of pink in Poe's cheeks at this, though he opts not to comment on it. "Is there another way?" he asks. "Can you… I don't know… shield us from it instead? Or… maybe we have to find some means of deactivating it…"

"I doubt we can deactivate it. This… chamber is victory through power. And as we just had political and… personal power, I suspect this is the test of our Force abilities." He hadn't seen any other way across that ravine, and he suspects that's for a reason.

Kylo paces to the edge of safety, gauging the distance, the energy required. "There are techniques to… deflect. Usually it is done to prevent a blaster bolt from hitting the target." His eyes flick sideways, a tiny curve of a smile. "Traditionally you fight Force-lightning with more lightning, or you catch it with your lightsabre. But I… could possibly create a safety net. A… faraday cage. It will take all my concentration. Shields are… normally short term in duration, and you are unable to do much but move or breathe when you raise one."

Poe looks out at the chamber again, at the lightning bouncing all over it, endless and deadly. "Would it be enough to protect us both?" is his next question. It's an important one. He doesn't want to be left behind, but also he doesn't want to be responsible for getting them both hurt – or worse – if Kylo's plan will really only work for one.

This is all very difficult. Poe might be able to keep up when it comes to climbing walls and fighting Rancors and going through weird dream-hallucinations, but he has no chance against actual Force powers. And, right now, he's really feeling it.

"It will have to." Kylo looks… worried. "I am not leaving you behind, and you cannot go back without me. If the chamber even allows for that. You… you give me strength. Purpose. It will have to be enough."

In all honesty, the Sith is concerned. He's capable of stopping bolts in their traces, of immobilising and moving small craft and people, but he's never used the Force this defensively. Snoke's training was much more aggressive and offensive, and if the Jedi ever learned this trick, they never passed it on to him. The closest he's come was back when they crashed, when instinct took over and he tried to throw up a bubble. He wonders if he can manage or not, but… 

"We'll get through. You'll need to stand in close. Behind me, with your hand on me, keeping our profile as small as you can." 

Poe nods, resolute. Trusting. "All right." And he moves in at once, stepping in behind the taller man, resting a hand on his shoulder, and the other on his hip. Firm enough to be felt, but not so much as to interfere or hinder movement.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared right now. Not enough to stop him, not by any means, but enough that he can feel his heart thrumming in his chest. The flash of the lightning in his eyes, when he peers around Kylo, impossible to block out.

But he trusts his lover. And he hopes the sense of that, the feeling, is what filters through strongest.

Kylo pauses, then looks over his shoulder. "Although this might sound… trite… I would appreciate it if you spoke as we walk. I may not be able to reply, but I enjoy the sound of your voice. Especially when you talk of things that you enjoy." 

That makes Poe press in closer for a moment, resting his head against Kylo's back, smiling. "Of course," he answers. "You know I'd tell you _anything_..."

...Not _now_ , Dameron.

"Location of the Resistance Headquarters?" is the immediate, joking response. But Kylo doesn't really want to know in case he is… in case it's ever taken from _his_ mind. The more layers between his long-abandoned family and his current overlord the better. 

The shield doesn't show very much, when he brings it up. He reaches down into himself, into that need for safety. He ignores the voice that asks where this bubble was when he first needed it, and instead visualises them crossing the electric field and achieving their rightful victory. A shimmer in the air is the only clue to the forcefield until he starts to walk them into the sparking mess.

The lightning arcs out to them, crashing and fractaling around a mostly-round orb of still air. Kylo has to pause, struggling to find the balance of how much of himself to use, the bubble expanding and contracting as it tries to stabilise. 

That is… that is… _impressive_. Poe's never seen a Force-user do something like this before, and – even knowing that Kylo can catch blaster-bolts in midair – it's a little mind-blowing to watch. He stares at it for a moment, as they start to move, caught by the way it looks, the way it feels. The way it's almost as though they're underwater, albeit in water that's alive and thrashing and deadly.

And then he remembers his promise to talk. He's managed not to simply say the location of the Resistance base out loud, at Kylo's comment, and he wonders what it means that he did that. Or… didn't, technically. Compartmentalising, perhaps.

"I never got the chance to thank you properly for that little practice session with your lightsabre yesterday," he says. "It was quite something. They really are beautiful weapons."

A flare of pride sparks in the Sith at that, the memory of watching Poe wield his blade. He might be no Force-sensitive, but he's still a man of great grace, poise and balance. Plus it was hot in all manner of ways to watch him bounce about, knocking rocks out of the air. Even BB-8 had seemed to come around more to them while they did it.

Definitely one of his better ideas.

"You would make a fine… well. Perhaps a Sith. Not a Jedi," Kylo replies, managing to walk a little faster under the boosted sensations. "It was a pleasure to watch you. To see how happy you can be. You… never lost that innocent hope, did you?" 

"I guess not," Poe replies. "The galaxy took a lot from me, over the years, but I decided early on that there were some things I'd hold onto until the day I die. My hope was one of those things. I figure, so long as I can hope for a better future, I can still make one."

It's a hope that's flared anew in recent days, hope of a better future not just for himself, personally, but for the galaxy as a whole. He knows it's a long way off, whatever happens, but the fact that he can see it gives him great strength.

The pilot smiles, letting the feeling fill him up, where he's confident the other man will be able to sense it. "And I know _we_ can."

Kylo can't help but wonder what the galaxy would have been like had Poe had the Force instead of himself. He's sure that everyone would have sighed in relief that there would be no new Skywalker-scion ready to ruin things, and maybe Han would have had the pilot he'd wanted. Leia could have had the political statesman, and Luke could have bought him shoes and told him tales of shooting rodents from his speederbike. 

Poe, meanwhile, would likely have defeated Snoke through sheer force of smiling at him, and everyone with the slightest inclination towards the Force would have signed up to be new Jedi and everything would have been happy and bright.

The Force – or the universe – clearly had other plans. 

"Did you ever wonder what colour your lightsabre would have been?" Kylo asks, as he steps them further in. Getting closer to the centre, where the storms are most concentrated. It's getting a little more difficult to resist, now. He tries to pull Poe's positivity into himself, tries to use it as his own shield. 

Poe may not have the Force, but he can sense the difficulties Kylo is having, and he tightens his hold on the other man, trying to concentrate as hard as possible on good things. Imagining that the feeling will feed back to his lover somehow.

At the question, he answers without a second's thought – making it clear that he _has_ considered this before. "Green. It makes me think of home. Of Yavin 4. Of the trees. Living beneath them and then flying above them…"

"When… did you decide you wanted to become a p--" A sharp crackle bears down on the bubble, and Kylo goes down to one knee, staggering under the pressure. It hums in his ears like the heartbeat of a drowning man, and he hisses in agony. 

This is torture. Pure torture. He flares out in panic, and then the lightning responds in kind, redoubling its efforts and magnitude. Kylo's eyes shutter almost-closed. "Tell. Me. How it…" get the words out, get them _out_ "... **feels** to fly…"

For a second, Poe feels the panic too. Partly on his own accord, and partly – he's sure – from Kylo. He doesn't know how, but it's… there. He scrambles to overcome it, ducking down too and trying to urge the other man to stand again. They're lost in the middle of this maelstrom, and Poe understands, somehow, that he might not be able to work the shields… but he can still fly the ship.

Sort of. It isn't a perfect metaphor. He's a little distracted right now.

"...Like nothing else in the whole galaxy," he answers, still trying to let those feelings, those memories, surge into him and push out everything else. "Like being weightless, unbound, invulnerable. The slightest touch, and all of reality shifts, as though it's rearranging itself around me. As though…" a moment in which the irony is not lost on him, "...I'm in control of it all."

Kylo tries to smile, but it's more like a grimace of pain. "I nearly crashed the _Falcon_ ," he admits. "I don't know if I'm entirely incapable, or if I was just too afraid. H-- my _father_ was not a patient teacher." 

He reaches out to Poe, a hand going behind to grasp his shirt. Feeling him, still there, still close. This deathtrap planet is hell, and he's sure that most would never walk out of here alive. Or, well, not walk out at all in that case.

"You and your droid. You are… connected," Kylo says, as he staggers awkwardly back to his feet. "He would do anything for you." 

"We've been through some tough scrapes," Poe answers. "And when I'm up there, in flight, he's the only one who's always with me. Literally at my back." A grin, despite it all. "No good pilot flies without their astro."

It's more than that, though. When you go through enough dangers together, it changes you. Makes you stronger together than you are apart.

And it doesn't just apply to pilots and droids.

"Then I will have to convince him of my worth, more than your squadron," Kylo muses, and his free hand glances at his sabre's hilt, needing the reassurance that it's still there. He tries to imagine Poe's… family… the one made up of comrades, of colleagues. He tries to imagine them happy for him, but it's hard to see that. 

Very hard to see that. Another falter, and then he imagines Poe insisting that this is right. That helps, and Kylo pushes out with a second wind of power, taking more steps (slow, faltering) towards the other side of the room. 

"And I know you will, in the end," Poe says. He means it, too. He knows that, at first, the other pilots are going to think he's lost his mind. Or worse. Snap will probably try to knock him into next week. Jess will do that thing she does that's all eyes and eyebrows and the vague concern that he might be about to burst into flames. And no doubt Nien will insist that this kind of thing never used to happen back in the day and what is the Resistance coming to and…

...and none of it will matter in the long run. Actions will speak louder than words. They'll all see that Poe _hasn't_ lost his mind. That Kylo _isn't_ their enemy any longer. And… it will work out. In the long run. It will.

There's that hope again.

Kylo's steps start to get longer, his stride more sure. He is careful not to go too fast, aware that Poe doesn't have quite his leg length, however. "When we make it through this, I am going to find whoever made this trap – even if I have to die and find them in the Force – and I am going to tell them _precisely what I think of them_ , then come back to life with them so I can kill them. All over again."

There have to be only two more testing chambers after this one, doesn't there? And one of them might have chains in. Poe will probably enjoy that one. 

"And then there's the part where you're literally marrying into the most fucked up family the galaxy has ever known…" 

Which is where Poe's mind just sort of… stops. He knows, academically, that being involved with Kylo Ren means he's connecting himself to the Skywalker-Organa-Solos. But… he can't actually think about it because every time he tries, his mind somehow… shorts out. Like it can't quite process the idea of those people – Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, even Leia Organa, in a way – being anything other than distant legends to him; heroes of such name and reputation that they exist as much in stories and rumours as they do in reality.

But, if he does this – and he is doing this – then they might become something else. Real. Present. How do you approach the idea of that?

"...We could just elope…" the pilot murmurs, actually sounding nervous.

Kylo actually stops dead in his tracks. "Poe Dameron, are you implying that your potential future in-laws are not… something to look forward to?" And yes, he's using the term lightly, but he knows it doesn't matter what words they use for their relationship. Kylo's a one-man man, and he's decided it's Poe, and the Force seems to agree, and even if Poe decided to change his mind… Kylo would still not. 

"'Something to look forward to?'" Poe repeats. "Kylo… I have _idolised_ these people since I was a child. Of course I'm looking forward to it. But I'm also slightly terrified by it."

"I wouldn't be afraid of it. My father will love you because you can fly. Admittedly he will love you anyway, because you have that effect on people. He'll bark at you, but that's how he talks to _anyone_. Chewie will like you, too. I assume you already know my mother, and Luke…"

Kylo's head drops, just slightly. "He will thank you… for doing what he couldn't to save me." 

Poe drops his head a little too, even though the other man can't see. Of all of them, it's Luke Skywalker he's most apprehensive about meeting – assuming they ever actually find him, of course. On the one hand, he's the hero of so many of Poe's childhood stories. A hero to his parents. To everyone. But on the other… Poe sees, now, the effects that Skywalker's teaching had on Kylo. The damage it did. Not out of malice, oh no – not like Snoke – but still there nonetheless.

And in the end, that proves what all this comes down to. The scariest thing is not meeting your heroes. The scariest thing is realising they're as human as you are.

Also… there's that other thing. "You… really think I saved you?"

Kylo whirls around, eyes confused with how Poe could ever think otherwise. Irritated, affectionate, and just… "You're the biggest damn fool in this galaxy if you think otherwise, _flyboy_." 

He looks like he wants to say more, but he also knows they need to keep moving, so he grabs both of Poe's hands and shoves them on his waist, tugging him onwards. "A Jedi Master, a General-Princess and a Scoundrel-Smuggler, and it's you who made me admit I may have done _some_ things wrong," he huffs, easier to say it when they're not looking one another in the eye. "I thought… I thought maybe _that_ was why you shot me." 

Oh. Damn. He can't un-say that. 

It would be so much easier if they weren't having this conversation in a huge room filled with Force lightning. Poe suspects that's precisely why they are.

"Because you've done some things wrong? Or… to save you? I didn't get into this to save you. But if I did… then I'm glad I took that shot. It was worth it."

Normal people do not reminisce about the time they fired a blaster at their lover. Though… nothing about any of this could ever be considered 'normal'.

"It's pretty much a given that you don't agree with all of my previous actions," comes the mild retort. Kylo wonders why this bothers him so much, why it's… sticking, a bit, inside. Many have _tried_ to fix him, but they'd normally known him _before_. They'd appealed to a name that wasn't him, not any longer. Tried to call him back to a boy who was too afraid, too in pain to keep going. 

"It's not – it's okay. Go back to talking about flying, please." 

The shift in mood is palpable, and it hits Poe right at the core. "No, I don't agree with all your previous actions," he says, gently ignoring the other request. "But I also believe that, if you don't let a person draw a line in the sand and start afresh on the other side, then you're basically condemning everyone to oblivion the moment they first do wrong. I may not have got into this to save you, Kylo, but you can be damn sure I always believed it was possible."

"It's fine." It isn't fine, and Kylo doesn't know why not. It should be. It should be great, and wonderful, and shiny, and lovely, and perfect. He has a handsome, rugged, fierce, proud, hope-filled boyfriend. One he can be proud to present to the world. He has him, and they're happily fucking any minute they're not trying to escape here and save millions of lives. 

It should be wonderful, but he doesn't feel wonderful. The shield around them wavers, and he lashes out in spite to dam the walls back up, storming with more purpose towards the other side. 

Which means Poe is back to trailing in his wake, and trying desperately to fight down the sudden burst of soul-deep worry in his chest. Trying to backtrack the conversation in his mind, to work out where he went wrong. He hasn't seen Kylo lose it like this since the whole thing between them first started up, and it's more than unsettling.

"Kylo," he says, as urgently as he dares. "Kylo, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong," Kylo insists, his tone a little… clipped and impersonal. "Everything is fine. I just need to get us through these stupid tests." He's getting tired, tired and cranky. And irritable. And it's getting harder to keep a lid on the negative feelings swirling around here, hammered as he is on all sides. 

He's fighting against the shockwaves so damn hard, and he knows… he knows he's not strong enough. A real Sith would have blasted the place wide open, used the power coursing between the grounding stations to galvanise them to higher, brighter things. Kylo's cowering like a wretch under a stupid false shield because he isn't the man his grandfather was. He isn't Darth Vader, and he isn't even Anakin Skywalker. 

And also he's more than a little hurt that Poe thought he was as bad as everyone else did, even if he was – is – whatever… still a mass-murdering borderline sociopath with anger management issues. The sparking seems to react to his mood, and the tendrils reach further to make the outside world an impossibly bright wall of light. But not… Light. It's the Darkness, and it's around them, and Kylo… Kylo's afraid of it. 

Even though it's probably a monumentally bad idea, Poe puts both arms around Kylo from behind. It will slow their pace, yes, but not stop it altogether. And right now, he doesn't know what else to do.

"Don't give in to this," he implores. If he really did save the man before, maybe he can do it again. Maybe he can keep doing it. "It's this place. Don't let it win. You're better than this, Kylo. I know you are."

"This…" hands into fists, use the anger, use the rage, use it, use it-- "...is just a _room_. A **test**. If I can't even… get through this… how can I defeat Snoke?"

Snoke, who knows the inside of Kylo's head in the same way that Kylo knows Poe's. Snoke, whose voice has been a steady trickle of poison in his ear since he can remember. Snoke who could likely blast him to pieces. Kylo might not be a Jedi – no, definitely isn't – but how can he ever hope to control the Dark Side if there's still Light in him?

The shield fails, and the first flash of lightning gets inside, slamming into them both and dropping Kylo to his knees. He screams, long and pained, and – _shitfuckcrapno_ Poe's in pain, too. He moves through treacle, throwing himself over his lover, trying to arch and make himself a bigger target without making contact and closing the circuit. He howls at how much it hurts, his shield flickering in and out of life but never quite materialising for long enough. 

The shock as the lightning hits is more than Poe is prepared for, and he _screams_ like he's been shot, falling to his knees and – for a moment – paralysed by how much it hurts. Instinct makes him try to call for help, but he can't get the words out; can't do anything but curl tighter in on himself as the agony builds and builds.

No wonder Darksiders like this. There's precious few who wouldn't cave under it. And, if the stories are true, it was a large part of what killed Darth Vader, in the end.

Not a good thought.

Survival instinct kicks in once the moment of paralysed hell has passed, and – knowing they're still too far out to make a run for it – Poe grabs hold of Kylo, who is half-curled over him, pressing in against his lover's chest, somehow finding the breath to gasp out four words, over and over.

"You can do this. You can do this."

Kylo tries his damndest to project over them, but the terror and the horror flare through his mind. He pulls Poe in as tight as he can, and he knows… he knows he has to make it out. He knows if he doesn't then he'll watch Poe die, here. 

No peace. Passion. Fire. The way he made Kylo's blood pound onboard the shuttle. The way he leaned in to the pain. The way he knelt before him, before he even knew what Kylo intended. Before _Kylo_ knew what he intended. The lives they can save, the planets that won't explode if they do this. The end to that voice in his head, the one that crawls and creeps and weaves evil sins inside his skull…

Kylo grabs Poe's hands and knots their fingers together, slamming the other man's knuckles down onto the stone floor. The pain from that is sharp and different – a memory of other times, more pleasant than this – and Kylo remembers the way Poe takes pain and makes it something more, something _better_. The first, wobbly half-circle rises up above them, giving them a moment of peace. He does it again, and bends down to bite so hard on the barely-healed mark on Poe's neck that his lover yells, and the shield seems to coalesce, to seal over. 

"I'm getting you out of here," Kylo promises. "I told you I would keep you safe." And – not waiting for an answer, he climbs to his feet and scoops Poe to his chest. And then he _runs_ for the doorway, hoping to the Force he doesn't fall. 

The pain is now so intense that Poe is close to blacking out. It's only the stubborn flare in his chest, the near-overwhelming desire not to let this place beat them, that keeps him conscious. At least… until Kylo is on top of him like that, and then the pain subsides a little as the shield starts to come back up, and he doesn't quite know _what_ is happening, just that some of it is good and the rest of it is _hell_ , and he just keeps murmuring those same four words, over and over.

_You can do this. You can do this._

But it isn't just reassurance, and that much is clear in his tone, wrecked though it is. Not just reassurance at all. Faith. Affirmation. Certainty. Believing it, with every fibre of his being.

It's possibly the least dignified attempt that anyone could ever make of this torture chamber: a tall mostly-Sith clutching a whimpering, pained pilot and running on shaking, aching legs towards the doorway. Several times Kylo thinks he's going to fall, thinks he's going to smack them into the ground and kill them, both… but he finds some last reserve of energy and _jumps_ forwards the last few feet, even as his shield peters out to nothing in his wake. 

And then they sort of fall-land in the empty chamber beyond, Kylo turning and landing on his back (and grunting at how bad it feels) with Poe on top of him.

Alive. Alive, but battered. He drops his head to the ground, sides shaking from the aftershocks. He feels exhausted from head to toe, and he _really_ hopes the way back doesn't include doing everything in reverse. 

All Poe can do for the moment is curl around Kylo, trying on some very distant level to soothe him, still shaking all over as the echoes of the overwhelming pain slowly die down. His mind is more than a little gone, not to that happy place where the other man can send it, but to somewhere dark and cold and hazy, and not welcome at all.

"Are..?" Words. Words are difficult. "Are… you all right?"

"No." Simple, but honest. "But I will… be." Probably. Kylo aches so much, his whole body feels sore and his head and his connection to the Force _hurts_. He pauses a moment, then lifts a hand and places it on Poe's back, just… feeling him breathing. Feeling him alive.

"I'm… sorry. About that." He isn't moving, other than the arm that's now in place, and he has no intention of moving until the world stops hurting him so much. 

The hand on Poe's back is really very welcome, and it – plus the sound of the other man's heartbeat – is the only good thing in the world right now. He presses in tighter, eyes still closed. He can't stop shaking.

"Don't be. I… think it was my fault. Think I said… something… or…" The memories are too hazy for him to make sense of yet.

"No. It… it was not you. I got annoyed about something that was nothing, and I let… I let the Darkness in that room grind at me." Kylo hates himself for that. Hates how easily the negativity can eat up at him. It's been easier without the insidious voice, but it sort of… hit all at once in there. 

"I expected you to somehow read _my_ mind, and I got annoyed with you for not…" Not shooting me to save me? That doesn't even make sense. None of it does. "It's… that's what… the Dark Side can do to you. It isn't all good emotions. There are bad emotions, too." 

"I know. I'm sorry." Poe's head is full of the bad emotions right now, and he's trying desperately to push past them. It is not easy. "Tell me… tell me how I can help. Tell me what you need."

Because _he_ certainly needs to be doing something. He just doesn't know what. And it is, to be fair, questionable if he can even move at this point.

"I don't know." If Kylo did, he'd be a different person, now. Even more unlike his past self than what he's becoming. "I don't think you can turn off negativity, make… make yourself feel positive all the time. I don't think that would work even if you tried to cauterise all your emotions… not for me." He can move his thumb, so he does that. Just tiny, tiny circles that he rubs into Poe's shirt. 

A slow, shuddery breath. "The anger I can work with, the fear keeps me sharp. The doubt, the shame, the…" wincing, "...knowledge that I might not be good enough. That I was never good enough for Master Luke, that I'm not strong enough to take down Leader Snoke… one has calm, the other… fury. And I'm somewhere in the middle. I don't know if I need to be one or the other to succeed. And I don't know if I can… fight… him out." Of my head. 

He has to tell him, surely? No. It's a matter of intense shame. Kylo closes his eyes, and breathes. And breathes. 

"You can," Poe insists. He still doesn't lift his head, but his words are steadier, now. More sure. "I know you can. The only reason you haven't done it already is that you never truly realised the need. But now… you do. And… you're not alone anymore. You have me."

Even as he speaks, he knows how ridiculous it sounds. A Force-less Resistance pilot, up against a Dark Side Master? But… it's not about physically going up against the man. It's about the strength that comes from having someone else believe in you.

Or, so he hopes.

"You don't understand," Kylo says, and hates himself for leading with that statement. It echoes back to earlier, angry shouting to his parents. To kicking stones at his uncle, who was only trying to help. None of them could help him, none of them could see the full extent of his anguish, or if they could… they couldn't turn the tap off. 

"The Supreme Leader… he… senses things." That is an understatement. "I will need to lie to him, to conceal the… the…" It's not even Light. It's whatever-the-hell this is. "He will know I am wavering, and he will seek to crush you. Or he will crush me, if he thinks I am beyond his control. I…"

No, no, no. Kylo's terrified, it's clear. His eyes glaze over, and he's fighting to stay in the moment, not to slip back and under. Not to close things into boxes, because to look at them is too much. Not to switch off whole aspects of himself in order to simply _survive_. "He is stronger than I am. He will see inside my heart, and… he… will break me." A pause. A long pause. "...again."

Poe can't stay still at that. Terror and anguish and ang _er_ all flare in his heart – a rare and dangerous combination – and he struggles to hold himself up, so he can meet Kylo's eyes.

"I will not let that happen," he insists. "And…" The awareness of how out of his depth he is too intense to ignore. "...If it does, I will pull you back. However many times it takes to end him. _I will pull you back_."

Brown, horrified eyes flicker up to Poe's, his hands barely moving, clutching with no real power behind them. "They knew. They knew, and they couldn't stop it. I heard them. I heard them say they were sending me away for my own good. But even _Luke_ couldn't stop him. He was always there, always… **always**."

Turning him against the people who cared, telling him nasty, evil things. Making them afraid of him, and then using that fear as yet another tool. Kylo remembers the arguments he wasn't supposed to overhear, remembers… 

His eyes shut, and he tries to clamp down on the trail, to block it off, to send it somewhere else. He used to flare out with anger when this happened, used to burn off the panic with violence because it was almost loud enough to drown out the echoes. "If he takes you from me, I will _destroy everything_ ," he whispers. And he knows it. He knows he has even less self-control than his grandfather. He knows the loss of Padme drove Anakin to the very edge, and he knows that Poe is at least as important, if not more so. 

"Don't let him. Don't let him make me any worse. _Please_. I can't do this twice." Kylo won't. He knows how bad he got the first time around, how it took over a decade to get him to even _consider_ breaking free from Snoke, and he knows that if he loses the only good thing he has – Poe – that there won't be any light left in him to tell him not to unmake whole worlds. 

It won't be a case of passion, strength, power, victory and freedom. It will be a very, very real bloodbath. The last time he lashed out at the Jedi. This time? This time with a weapon like the Starkiller he could literally wipe out whole solar systems. 

"You're not on your own anymore," Poe points out, very softly. Very surely too. "Look at how much you've changed in just a few short days. You can do this. I know you can do this. I know _we_ can do this."

It doesn't change the part where Poe is completely out of his depth and he knows it. And is trying desperately to hide it, to stamp down on the emotions, not wanting Kylo to pick up on them. Not wanting to make this any worse than it already is.

The fear, in the wake of all that now-subsided pain, is leaving him washed-out and strangely exhausted, but he won't give in to it. Not whilst Kylo still needs him. And though it terrifies him to think of himself as the very real chink in the other man's armour… he still believes Kylo is stronger with him there.

The voice was external to begin with, but little Ben Organa-Solo had no way of really identifying the source of all those thoughts and images. He'd been too young to properly draw up the line between self and other, and by the time he could have done it, the voice sounded too much like his own.

It also carried on, when Snoke didn't speak, doing his work for him. Kylo remembers it too well, because whenever the black cloud floats over his head, the words follow quickly behind: flooding into his mind and making him doubt, making him weak. It's likely, he thinks, what has kept him from getting any further with his training. Snoke wanted a new Dark star, but instead he just got a pulsar, alternating Light and Dark and never sure where his feet were at any given moment. A broken soldier, walking on shattered legs and running on empty. 

"When we get out of here, he will… be able to slip into my mind again. If…" Breathe. Breathe. "If you think what I can do is bad…" He'd learned it, after all. It was just that Kylo never had the need to do it so extensively, so… drawn out to another person. He snapped them enough to fit them to his purpose, and then they were used and gone. 

Kylo grabs Poe's head between two hands, and weakly brushes his mind against his lover's. Not a slamming, not a taking, but a gentle touch like fingers trying to get a hand to turn and hold them. "Please. Please think of good things. I-- I ran out of them, before you came. Please… remind me that feeling isn't just pain. I need to know why I'm fighting." 

Poe has seen people have crises of conscience, of self, of faith before. Never to this extent, no, but the basic principle is the same. Pilots waking in the dead of night, wandering out to stare up at the stars, silently begging for answers. Why they fight. Why they live a life essentially on the run. What hope they have, when they're up against a power so intense and overwhelming and cruel.

The solution to these crises is nearly always the same: to remind the person what they're fighting for. Why they do what they do. _Who_ they are fighting for.

And it hurts him to realise that, for a very long time, Kylo has had no one to fight for. Estranged from his parents. Cut off from his family. Far, far away from anywhere that might once have been home. Separated from any reason to feel truly good, truly happy.

But… that's different now. Right? He has Poe. And… he wants Poe. And… that has to be it. The source of joy. It's changed everything. It means something. It means _everything_.

Poe curls down into the contact, resting their foreheads together, not resisting the hands on him. Trying to call up all his very best thoughts from the last few days. "You know why you're fighting," he starts out, as sure and certain as he can get his voice to sound. "You're fighting for this. For us. The _joy_ we've both experienced since we got to this insane little backwater world. And… it has been joyous. Hasn't it? The pleasure we've felt. The successes we've achieved. The… the way you looked at me yesterday morning, when you were showing off with your lightsabre. When you let _me_ try. Do you…" don't lose it now, Dameron, "...Do you even realise how _liberating_ it is, to finally realise the things I want? To find the perfect person to share them with? You take me places I never even knew existed. You… make me feel more alive than _flying_ does, Kylo. And you know how alive flying makes me feel."

With his gentle touch to Poe's mind – not a raping, not a robbing – Kylo can feel the emotional backdrop to the words he says. He can process them as real things, as little islands of light, joy and hope against the vastness of an uncaring, unrelenting universe. 

The Force is one thing: a comfort, a sense of place, a power… but without a _reason_ without a **feeling** , it's just another way to perceive and not to feel.

His thumbs move, touching Poe's cheeks and remembering kisses. Sliding to the edges of his mouth and remembering how it felt when they first – savagely – locked lips together. Even that had been a fight, but a good one. He feels Poe's breath on his face and remembers when he made him kneel, but remembers straight after: when he pulled Poe back to his feet and made an internal pact with himself to save _him_ from hurt. 

He remembers how good it felt to watch Poe train. No Jedi, no Sith, but still a force of nature and the bubbling laughter he'd felt, just below the surface. It reminds him of how he first felt, when he trained. The good days, not the bad ones. The days he could still tell stories in his head about how he would be a hero like his parents, like his uncle. The makeshift lightsabre forged from whatever he could steal from his father's spare parts, running up and down and defeating evil with just a strong swoop from his arm. Poe still feels all those good, happy possibilities that Kylo was sure were gone forever.

And then those… other things. The look Poe gets when he's out of his mind, the way his lover's whole self vibrates with bliss under his hands. The sounds he makes when he's coming, the way he grasps with both hands for the nasty, wrong, _bad_ but not-bad things Kylo wants to do to him. The way Poe trusts him enough to leave his soul and mind in Kylo's hands, not just his body. The rapture he can feel from him when he goes to that other place, the good place…

His fingers curl around Poe's jaw, and he takes a slow, slow, shuddery breath in. Yes. Good things. Happy things. A pain that's only a good pain, because it's a pain of adoration. A need to make him happy, a need to keep him safe, a need to bind himself as closely as possible with him, do everything he can for him. Even if it means pushing out a voice that's had power over him for too long, now. A voice that's strong, but Poe's is louder. Poe's is happier. Poe's loves him, and Snoke never did.

And that has to be stronger than anything else. Passion: real, gut-aching need. The realisation that something else – some **one** else – means more than anything else ever could. He brushes his lips over Poe's, whispering a thank you over and over. He sends a pulse of feeling into him, letting him know it's working. There's pain and fear, still; anger and doubt and worry… but they wane in the light of his lover's comfort, of his soul's better half. "You save me," he whispers, against his lips. "You are stronger even than me." 

"No," Poe whispers back, soft and sure. "But… together, we are stronger than either of us would be alone."

He surges in to kiss the other man, not sure if he should but _needing_ to so badly that there's no way he can hold it back any longer. He cups Kylo's face in both hands, kissing him with all the love and desperation he can muster. Which is quite a lot.

"I love you, Kylo," he murmurs, as the kiss finally breaks. "I mean it. And… if you really believe I saved you, then you can be damn well certain I plan to keep doing so every day for the rest of my life."

"You did," Kylo insists. "You saved me from myself. From a me I… didn't want to be." He chases his lips, trying to get a few more small, tiny kisses from him. "You keep me from letting _evil_ in. Not… emotion. Not… Dark. Evil."

It's different, isn't it? The Jedi had it all wrong. Maybe some lost their focus if they allowed sensations, emotions to get too much for them… but for some, like Kylo, it hones their natural instincts. Feeling isn't bad. _Actions_ are bad.

"I am sorry it is so hard for me. This place is… designed to prey on our weaknesses, our… doubts, fears, hurts and temptations. And I would never have made it through this far without you, Poe." 

"You can do this," Poe tells him. " _We_ can do this. And no matter how difficult it gets… neither of us has to do it alone. _You_ don't have to do it alone."

He presses in for more kisses; softer, gentler this time, finally resting his forehead against Kylo's again. "And you saved my life back there," he adds. "I won't forget that."

"There was never any question that I would," Kylo tells him, voice suddenly fierce. "Even if I had to die to do it: the galaxy needs Poe Dameron more than it could ever need Kylo Ren." He pushes Poe's head under his chin for a moment, squeezing him with all the (somewhat depleted) strength he has. "You are the only real thing that matters to me. I… would give up the Force, if it was the only way to have you safe." 

He's not told him that, but from the fierce surety in his tone, he means it. All the way to his core. 

This is a little overwhelming to hear, and, for a moment, all Poe can do is stay curled in tight, letting those words sink in. He knows what the Force means to those who can use it. He's _seen_ how distressing it was for Kylo to be cut off from it.

"We'll make this right," Poe whispers, finally. "You'll see. We'll make it right, and then… we'll both be safe."

A lasting peace has always been a distant, desperate dream, but somehow it feels more within reach now. Even though the stakes are infinitely higher.

"We can't wait here for long," Kylo muses, "...but I'd like a few minutes to regain my strength. As I don't see any doors in our near future, there's likely at least one more death-trap to get through." 

This is all the excuse Poe needs to stay where he is a little longer. "Take all the time you need."

He's in no hurry to find out what's waiting for them up ahead. But, at the same time, he feels all the more ready to face it.

***

After a little while longer, resting comfortably together, the two men have to accept the inevitable. They need to keep going. They need to find out where this path is leading them.

Rising to their feet, they set off down the passageway they're in, pacing carefully along, keeping their eyes open for any signs of danger. The air is cool, and still, and heavy with menace.

And then, up ahead – coming from beyond the next door – they start to hear a series of sounds. A low rumbling, interspersed with various irregular swishes, and the occasional burst of movement, rising and falling with no predictable pattern.

"That… doesn't sound good," Poe murmurs, as they start to edge rather more slowly towards the large door up ahead.

It slides open, revealing what lies beyond, and – as they see – pilot and Sith both stop dead.

The room in question is high, and wide, and it is utterly filled with deathtraps. Huge spinning blades erupt from floor and wall alike. Volleys of projectiles shoot at irregular intervals across different parts of the vast chamber, intersecting in certain places with what look like some kind of lasers. Blocks and platforms move constantly, the whole place shifting and rearranging itself, making any semblance of a safe path impossible to locate.

"Oh _fuck_ ," both men say, in unison.

They stare for a moment longer.

"...Whoever built this place should _die_ ," Poe manages.

"If they aren't already dead. As I said, I'll bring them back to murder them all over again," Kylo mutters, and there's pure, venomous Sith in his tone at that, his eyes flashing with a cruel anger.

The things he would do to them… oh, it would be more than put them in a box of pain. It would involve the careful removal of small parts of their anatomy and then things placed in the open wounds and resealed and a constant interruption to their sleep pattern and a process of eroding their sense of what was real or not and…

...he realises he might have been muttering some of that under his breath, and shakes his head. "Is it too late to decide I want to be a Jedi?" 

Poe stares at him. Really stares. Because some of that _was_ out loud, and he heard it. "Yes. It is far too late. Even leaving aside the black cloak and the red lightsabre, your proclivities just aren't compatible."

And yes, he is flirting. He's nervous. He flirts when he's nervous. And excited. Happy. Sad. Bored. Pleased. The works.

"And we can't even go back. 'Back' means the Force-lightning room and the bottomless pit. We've got to go on."

But on… how exactly is Poe supposed to go on? This hideous deathtrap is clearly designed to be a challenge to Force-users. One of which he is not.

"I'm… I'm going to…" what? Say 'pretty please let us through I promise to be a good Sith'? "...meditate. On…" Kylo waves a hand at the mess in front of him. "See if I can… detect any pattern, or… or any way to predict the movements by sensing them just before they happen."

What the hell else can he do? Kylo huffs, and drops to sit down, cross-legged, with his eyes closed. 

It's not peaceful meditation, oh no. Not from the way his jaw twitches and the line of tension across his shoulders would break lesser men. 

This takes Poe by surprise. He stares down at Kylo. Then he stares out at the room again. And _then_ – not enjoying looking at the room one bit – he returns his attention to Kylo.

"...Is this helping?"

"Not really, but I like to look cool before I die," Kylo snarks back at him. He's… maybe. Maybe there's… not a pattern, but a series of them? They don't line up in order, but each element seems to have a set of movements that they do, irregularly, but always the same movements. There's cogs, and there's wheels, and there's… well. Also flying death pellets of some kind, which don't look fun. Those are probably the hardest thing for Poe, because he can jump when told to, but…

Kylo unfastens his sabre from his belt, offering the hilt to Poe. "You're going to need this." 

"...I am?" Poe starts out, and then stares between Kylo and the room again. "I… Oh. I have to do this on my own, don't I?"

They can't exactly cling to each other and do this part in tandem. Not if they want to survive it. But the thought of facing this – essentially – alone is not a welcome one.

"Not entirely alone, no. But you're going to need to do much of it yourself, with my help," Kylo tells him. "I can… guide you. But you're going to need to listen to my commands, and to deflect anything that comes towards you. _I_ can use the Force, but you will have only your agility and my sabre to defend yourself." 

Head to one side, Kylo looks up at Poe. "I may need to… take control at times. At short notice." 

The lightsabre hilt in Poe's hand feels so very different to the way it felt the other morning, in the sunshine. He looks at the room once more, and then back to Kylo. Nodding. Resolute. "All right. I trust you. Just… tell me precisely what you need me to do."

He does not want to die. Does _not_. To some, the feeling might be a distraction. But right now, to Poe… it is _excellent_ motivation.

"I'll use simple commands: left, right, jump, duck, back, fore. If I need you to go twice the distance, I'll add 'two'." That works so far, doesn't it? "And block. I may also yell 'block'. There's no over-all pattern to the movements, but there are some sequences… or… repeating motifs, should I say. I think I can navigate you across."

He'll just have to follow afterwards. It is not going to be easy at all, because it is designed for a _Sith_ to show off their prowess. "And don't be alarmed if I suddenly fling you about." Or… not overly alarmed. 

"Are you ready?" 

"Let's hope so," Poe answers, dryly, then thinks better of the – admittedly non-hostile – snark and nods again. "Yes. Yes. I'm ready."

He turns to face the room, standing on the very edge of the safe zone near the door they've come in through, and looks at the lightsabre hilt in his hand again. He can do this. He can. _They_ can.

"Once you get onto the first platform, I need you to go forwards two paces, then duck." The beginning, at least, is sequential. "On my mark… three, two, one: **mark**."

Poe moves at once, trying to strike some kind of a balance between watching for hazards, and trusting that Kylo is telling him when to move – and where – at precisely the right point. It works for the first few paces, but then haste and adrenaline get the better of him a little, and he has to pull off a sudden roll to avoid getting sliced in two by a spinning blade that comes out of nowhere.

When he gets as far as the directions take him, he pauses, dropped half into a crouch, trying to resist the urge to look back. He can't afford to look back.

"FORE," Kylo yells, and when Poe doesn't move quick enough there's a shove behind him, pushing him in the right direction. Left, fore, duck, pause, pause, pause, block, jump… the commands come fast and furious as the Sith tries to read both his lover and the mechanical murder-room. Something comes out faster than he can speak, and he slams the command for _down_ into Poe, flooring him without asking for consent. 

The push hits hard and fast, and Poe hits the stone platform just in time to feel a volley of projectiles whir over his head. It's weird, being essentially controlled like this, but the moment is so intense, so life-or-death desperate, that his mind doesn't see it as anything other than necessity. Maybe later he'll dwell on it for its other applications, but right now… survival is all that counts.

Well, OK, survival and not getting maimed. Which this room seems abundantly equipped to do to him and, seriously, the Sith of Old clearly need a good talking to. Or, they would, if they weren't all dead.

"I'm OK!" he calls out, even though Kylo will be able to tell as much through the Force.

"Get up, there's more coming. You're going to need to block with the sabre," Kylo yells back. He lashes out with the Force, sending some of them flying, but they're coming in from so many angles and speeds that it's difficult. He takes out as many as he can, and then yells _JUMP_ when one of those lovely chainsaw blades comes sweeping out for Poe's ankles. 

The red blade lances into life as Poe jumps, swinging through the air and taking out a couple of projectiles. It's mostly through sheer dumb luck, as the shock of the moment hits him hard, but by the time he lands he's gotten control of the feeling again, and the next couple of swings are more careful and precise.

_Just like deflecting pebbles out in the sunshine._

Except for the part where these ones will probably do serious damage if they hit.

"Not enjoying this, not enjoying this, not enjoying this," the pilot keeps murmuring under his breath, as he makes the next jump, ducks, and then rolls, feeling himself pushed on further and faster by another nudge through the Force.

"Keep moving… there's… ah…" Crap. "BLOCK." Now there's lasers. Isn't it enough to have spinny death circles, moving blocks, flying drones and huge jumps and leaps? No. There have to be lasers, too. "Lightsabre can hold it off, but you have to…"

Poe's not going to manage the fine-tuning, Kylo realises, and with a thought of apology he slips into Poe's mind. It's a rough thing, harsh and unforgiving, and Poe's hands move faster than a human's reflexes normally allow as Kylo puppets him through the complex blocking. Poe doesn't fight him too much, and – hoping he's not causing irreparable damage – he forces him through the next few jumps and rolls until he's somewhere relatively safer. Relatively.

Kylo pulls out, and wipes the blood from his nose. "LEFT. TWO. DUCK. JUMP." He's almost there, almost safe… "NOW!"

One last, nigh-on agonising jump… and Poe practically smacks off the far wall, pulling himself in against it as soon as he lands, curling into the cold stone.

"I made it!" he calls over – instinct again – and it's clear from his voice that he is in more than a little pain. It's hard not to be. That slam into his mind was… rough. And difficult. And…

...OK, Dameron, focus now…

He deactivates the sabre, turning to look out at the room. It looks just as hideous from this side, and he's infinitely glad to be through it. And now horrified at the prospect of having to watch Kylo go through the same.

"Let go of my sabre," Kylo asks, and then with a _tug_ it flies across the room and back to his hand, still lit. He can feel Poe's pain, but the pain means he's alive, and that's… that's the important thing.

Now he's on the other side, if Kylo falls… well. He'll fall with Poe marginally closer to the end. 

Breathe. Focus. Centre. Breathe. 

He takes two steps back and runs to the edge of the ledge, his foot pushing him off and landing two platforms ahead. The less time on the ground he spends, the less likely he'll lose a foot or an arm, he guesses. 

The first swarm of projectiles comes faster, and he snarls in defiance as his sabre swings around in ragged, violent pirouettes – sending them sizzling off into the distance. A jump straight up and he lands _on_ one of the spinning blades, using it to push himself diagonally forwards. With the Force augmenting his movements he can do more than Poe did, and he's halfway up one of the columns and somersaulting forwards, blocking three laser-blasts in the process and dropping into a crouch.

...it's more fun when he can actually _control_ things, and not live through it vicariously. His head lifts and his eyes meet Poe's, drunk with power and possibility. He waits until the last moment before he jumps above the next blade, slicing through one pendulum and running along the falling pole to cross a chasm that he wouldn't manage without. 

_Oh_ , but that's…

Poe stares. A lot. He forgets the lingering pain, even forgets most of the worry, and just… watches. Kylo is breathlessly beautiful like this, the way both his body and blade sing through the air, his timing perfect. There's nothing clunky about it, nothing like the stop-start path Poe had to take to get over here, and he's glad of the chance to see this. To… enjoy it.

Maybe he shouldn't be, when they're in so much danger. But… he can't help it.

Kylo's path is over much faster, and by the time he's leaping his last (and landing, as showy as ever, in a crouch with both arms spread wide, his blade off to the right and his head bowed), he's clearly in a much better mood. 

A breath. Two. Three. When his head lifts, there's that knowledge again, that power. 

His left hand flicks at the wrist, and Poe's dragged by the throat by the Force, pulled in until Kylo can grab the back of his neck with his hand and kiss him with a hunger and a passion that says _when I get you out of here, you're going to like it_. He finishes with a bite to his mouth, then drops him entirely. 

He knows Poe will like it. 

He's right. The kiss is everything right now – relief, passion, need – and Poe leans into it like a man – aha – possessed, moaning softly in delight and trying not to stagger too badly when the other – taller – man drops him.

The pilot's eyes are dark. Very, very dark. And if they're not at the end of this thing, he's really going to be having words with the Sith of Old even if they _are_ all dead.

"That… was impressive," he manages. He means the whole process of Kylo crossing that room, but he isn't specific about it. Not when the words could also – do also – apply to the kiss.

"I aim to please," Kylo replies, sounding… smug. Proud. Happy. He may also have just used the Force to grope his boyfriend's ass. Rather resoundingly.

Apparently accomplishing great things leads to a more positive Sith.

"Now let us see if we're victorious enough. If I have to fight the Mandalorian armies in holo ahead, I'll crush their tiny little heads and feed them to their sons."

Poe grins, and leans in to nip at Kylo's jaw. Just because he can. The secondary wash of adrenaline has hit now, and he feels suddenly psyched up for anything, and even more daring than usual.

"I don't doubt it," he says. "If this place continues to torment us, I might very well join you."

"I will make a Sith of you, yet," Kylo preens. 

***

The next room doesn't look like a trap, but then a trap wouldn't, would it? The door is open, and apparently they've turned through a full one-eighty at some point because ahead is BB-8, the pod, and the middle of the arena. 

Kylo glances up at the curving script above the doorway, etched in deep in glowing, bright red.

" _Through power, I gain victory_ ," Kylo interprets, even though it's probably redundant to say so. "There are only two more left."

Poe stares up at it as well.

"So it would seem," he agrees. "The question is… what happens after that?"


	16. Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations, dear readers. We return with another chapter for you... and with an announcement! For the next four days - today being day one - we will be posting a chapter a day (rather than every other day, as we've been doing thus far). We have a BIG arc to take you through, and we want to give you the chance to experience it in a more condensed space of time.
> 
> You might want to start stockpiling hard liquor. And hugs. You know, if you were the sensible, prepared type...
> 
> In the meantime, let's start off with something a little lighter. Warnings for knifeplay.
> 
> ...When we said 'lighter', we were lulling you into a false sense of security... ;-)

BB-8 whirls up to greet them, beeping and booping in happiness, circling around them with joy. Kylo drops down to one knee, leaning in to speak lowly to it. The droid chirps again, then nods, and then goes to talk to Poe for a moment.

Kylo walks off and leaves the two of them to converse for the time being, a man intent on something. 

Which means it's Poe's turn to kneel down next to BB-8, whilst the little droid beeps continuously at him for a good minute. He smiles, resting a hand on the astro's chassis. "Yeah, I'm fine," he insists. It's possible he doesn't look it, given everything that went on in there, but strangely he feels it.

BB-8 bleeps some more, almost shy in tone, and Poe laughs.

"Ah, so you're coming around to him now, are you? I know the feeling…"

He glances up. He can't see where Kylo's actually gone, and that's… well. He's sure the other man is fine, and…

More bleeping from the astromech, which drags Poe's mind back to the moment. 

"I'm not surprised. I reckon this place was designed to stop you leaving until you pass all its tests. Which… I guess means we might be in for a shock once we do."

BB-8 bleeps an affirmative. But… it's something they can both worry about later.

Kylo lets them have some time together, knowing he's been… well. Monopolising his lover, and keeping him from his droid. Which he doesn't feel guilty about, per se, but he recognises that the astromech might feel abandoned. And Poe would be sad that the droid felt abandoned, so therefore he should let the machine have some time with Poe.

It also means he can prepare for what he plans next. Whilst BB-8 keeps his pilot occupied with small talk, Kylo fetches several supplies and takes them to the oasis (shielded, so he can't see he's done it). When he's ready, he whistles loudly through his teeth.

BB-8 spins, nods once at the Sith in the distance, then turns back to its master. It tells him that the other man is waiting for him, and that it hopes he has a nice time, and that the other told it that it could come spend the night with them afterwards, if Poe is amenable? 

The optical sensor tilts up hopefully. It understands – academically – why the human might not want him around during their lovemaking, but the droid doesn't understand exactly as it just sees it as more ways to interact. BB-8 does hope that Poe will allow it to come in to stay closer after the event, though, now that the other man agrees it's okay. 

This takes Poe a little by surprise, but he smiles nonetheless and rests his head against BB-8. "Sure you can. Just don't freak out if I'm…" He trails off. "…Just don't freak out."

BB-8 gives an oddly happy little bleep and then trundles away, going to continue its explorations of the increasingly-twilit amphitheatre. Poe, for his part, sets off in the direction of the oasis, pausing only to leave everything he's carrying in the pod.

Somehow, he doesn't think he'll need it.

He's aware, now, that his heart is beating faster. He can tell that Kylo is planning something – he would have guessed that without what BB-8 told him – but he doesn't know what.

His mind races with the possibilities. He tries to keep his step level. Tries – instinctively – to keep his emotional state hidden from his face, from his movement… and then remembers that Kylo will just be able to sense it all, through the Force.

There really is no hiding from a Sith. He'll just have to hope the other man likes what he sees.

The entrance to the walled-off oasis beckons. Poe pauses in it, on the edge of the short grass, looking around.

"…Kylo?"

The Sith has dressed a little more. The boots and pants remain the same, but over his shirt is the more formal, stiff and quilted fabric covering his torso. His neck down to his wrists are covered, his hands back inside his gloves. The mask is not there, but the expression on his face says enough. 

"Is that how you should address me?" he asks, standing with his hands by his sides looking… composed. Calm. No, not calm: _poised_. 

This alone sends an intense flare of emotion chasing through Poe: a bright, sharp heat, similar to arousal but a great deal more complex. It isn't just about physical desire. It's something much deeper. Something that even fucking – in and of itself – wouldn't sate.

On one level, part of him wants to resist. No, 'resist' is the wrong word. Maybe… 'misbehave' is closer. Be deliberately provocative, to see what reaction it gets. Like… well. Like he did at the start.

But… no. No. After the day they've had, perhaps something more acquiescent is called for.

"I'm sorry," he says, softly, dropping his head. " _Master_."

Kylo lets him sweat for a moment before he releases the burden, calling in a sure, but soft voice: "Come here." He doesn't move, and waits for Poe to obey him. There is no doubt in his mind that his lover will, and he fully intends to reward him with what his darker side has no doubt craved.

He… wasn't… certain enough, before. For all their love-play, he's been careful to not cross lines. Not push this too far, when only days ago the man tried to murder him. He thinks they've waited long enough now, though, to do this _right_. Or as right as you can do, when you're making it up as you go along. 

Poe moves at once, walking closer, trying to keep his steps level. His heart is thrumming so hard, so fast, that he wonders if Kylo can hear it, never mind sense it. But… it isn't fear. Not exactly. Or, not the kind of fear that would make a man back off.

No. That second kind. The one that _craves_.

He stops close by, not quite enough to push into personal space, but not far off and… he lifts his eyes, just for a second, meeting the other man's. There's strength in his own, though not defiance, and he only makes very brief eye-contact before looking down again, and then following suit by dropping gracefully to his knees.

Oh, but it truly is something to witness, Poe Dameron on his knees. Kylo's been fond of the sight since Jakku, since he was pushed before him and still flared back at the Dark Lord he tried to kill. His hair curls enticingly around his head, and the lines of his shoulders as he breathes make Kylo's heart ache with adoration. He pushes his gloved fingers through Poe's hair, brushing back from his temple and around and down to the back of his neck. He keeps his hand there for a long moment before he uses it to pull Poe back up to his feet.

"You are mine, Poe Dameron. And I am going to show you what that means. I am going to show you how much a _Sith_ can give to their lover, their _submissive_." That's the word for it, isn't it? He thinks so. Even if it isn't, it will be, now. His thumb slides behind Poe's ear and he glides his hand around and around and over the front of his throat and… **rips** his shirt down the front.

Consequences be damned. They can sew it up enough to last a few more days in the morning. Kylo gestures with the Force and the torn-open shirt drags itself off his lover, leaving him bare from the waist up. 

It is hard not to flinch at that, though Poe does a surprisingly good job of it. He keeps his head down, trying to remember to do the one thing he _can_ do right now. Which is breathe. It is strangely not easy.

But… he wants to make his surrender clear. His… submission? That's what this is, isn't it? He's heard the word used in a sexual context before, but only on the periphery of other discussions, and he's never really known anything about the concept beyond the basic clichés that everyone seems to be aware of.

Which is ironic, in a way, given… well. Given all of this. Given that it is apparently what his blood is _burning_ for.

Kylo turns his back on Poe, and walks the short distance to a tree. It's a sturdy one with a thick, solid trunk and broad, strong branches. From one branch two tails of a rope hang, and Kylo waits for his lover to follow. 

And Poe does, trailing immediately in Kylo's wake, never letting the gap between them become too large. He looks up as they draw close to the tree, seeing the rope and… his mind sort of shorts out, for a second. His knee-jerk reaction – which registers in his eyes, though no more – is fear, but it's quickly subsumed by something much more complicated.

Something… that burns in his blood, a flare of need and hope. A… longing.

"Give me your hands," Kylo insists, his voice level, but caring. He knows Poe will obey, and when he does he moves him, as though they were dancing. Turns Poe so his back is to the trunk, and then lifts the hands up above his head.

He secures the first wrist, knotting it carefully with a little room to breathe, but not enough to shake it off. The second wrist is tied, but in doing so he pulls his other wrist higher. The knots mean Poe can either put more weight on his feet and cut into his wrists, or pull up from his hands and leave the floor a little more. It's not impossible, but it's painful, and it's precise. 

For the moment, Poe settles on the former, letting the sting cut into his wrists in order to leave his footing more stable. It's the only thing keeping him grounded right now, given that his mind has gone straight through the non-existent roof, the _helplessness_ of his current position making him more than a little hazy with need.

He lifts his head, trying to keep his expression level, strong, focused. Trying to keep the emotions from surging to the forefront of his mind, partly so they don't overwhelm him, and partly so he doesn't give _everything_ away all at once.

This was much easier when the other man's connection to the Force was blocked. Though that is not to say Poe wants that to happen ever – ever – again.

"You do not need to resist, Poe," Kylo says, sensing his hesitation. When the knots are done his gloved hands slide down over his stretched arms, over his chest, down to his waist. He holds him still, and stands in close. Even stretched like this, the shorter man's head is below his, and he has to tilt his own head to press their foreheads together. 

"You are safe, here. Safe with me. You are free to feel, to want, to _need_." His fingers slide back up his sides, using the Force to trail hot, scorching sensation in their wake. No damage to his skin, though it must feel close to being burnt to a crisp. His fingers move towards the man's nipples, pinching them and twisting them sharply. 

Poe drops his head back, crying out at that, the heat of the moment somehow making the feeling even stronger. The shock of it makes him pull even more on his wrists, and he has to arch up onto the balls of his feet for a second to take the pressure off.

"What… what do you want from me?" he gasps. Not at all sure if the other man _does_ want something from him, or if all of this is just for its own sake. Either would make sense. But right here and now… the need to know is too much to ignore.

"I want all of you," Kylo answers, not upset with the question in the slightest. "I want your surrender, your pain, your love, your _faith_ and your freedom." That's what it's about, isn't it? Giving him the space to move outside of himself, taking control and making him see the galaxy? His fingers and thumbs pull and tug, rolling at Poe's nipples and making them raw with the attention.

"I want you to give it all to me, Poe. I want to give _you_ what **you** need." 

And then Kylo's right hand grabs Poe by the throat, squeezing and lifting him upwards just enough that his toes no longer touch the ground. His dark eyes blaze with a cruel, loving light and a need to _own_ that could never be wholly Light. 

Poe's eyes practically roll up at that, the feeling going right through him like a whipcrack, a brief, intense rush of fear followed by something very different: something sure and certain and dark and _wonderful_. A once-forbidden secret, now laid bare. He can hardly breathe, but the panic is already gone, and he knows – he _knows_ – he doesn't need to feel it.

He can't speak – not like this – and, although he's confident the other man isn't inside his head, he still wonders if Kylo can hear or feel things if he _thinks_ them loudly enough. The emotions, surely, will filter through, even if the words don't.

 _Anything_ , he thinks. _Everything. Yours. I am yours._

Kylo waits until the man in his grasp is utterly slack, and his breathing almost gone and he smashes Poe's mouth to his own with a hunger born of long-wanting. He bites down hard on his lip, then fucks his mouth fiercely with his tongue; over and over, until he can sense that Poe's on the edge of blacking out, and he lets go with his hand, even as he continues kissing him through the short fall back to the limit of the bonds around his wrists. 

The hand on his throat claws down over his chest, not using the Force, just his touch. Leather squeaks over skin as he slides it all the way to the front of his pants and **grabs** , groping him firmly through the fabric and moving his lips towards his ear.

"You're not going to come. Not for hours. I'm going to play on every last nerve in your body. I'm going to fuck your mind into space, and then bring it back, only to fuck it right out of you again. And when you can no longer beg, when you can no longer _ask_ , **then** I'll let you come and scream my name to the galaxy and know you're mine forevermore." 

Kylo's words are terrifying to hear. Absolutely, Force-be-damned, _terrifying_. They are also – at the same time – wonderful beyond the realms of reason. Poe knows how good it feels when the other man pushes him into that dark, faraway place; indeed, 'good' isn't even the right word to describe it, because it's not enough. Not nearly enough. But then, even 'utterly fucking amazing' isn't enough.

It doesn't turn the fear off, though. Not in the slightest. Both things can exist simultaneously.

" _Yes, Master_ ," he gasps, needing to give some affirmation. Needing to make it clear how much he wants this. Arching into the contact, rough though it is, craving it.

The Sith kneads hard at the stiffness he finds between Poe's legs, pawing harshly at his groin and making sure it's almost – almost – too much. He waits until the man is panting hard, and then he grabs his throat and smashes his head back and into the tree.

(Not full force, because he doesn't actually want to concuss him. In fact, the blow is barely more than a light sting; it's designed, instead, to disorient and show how far he's prepared to take this.)

That done, Kylo reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small vibroblade. He lifts it for Poe to see, turning it on. Turning it on, and bringing it in close.

"We're going to see _how much_ pain you **actually** like, Resistance scum. Did you think you could court the Dark Side and escape intact?" The blade comes in, under his throat, making him move or face contact with it. Kylo's eyes are wild with need, but… wild with _controlled_ need, now. A sadism tempered with love. 

And something about that… Poe couldn't tell you why, but it snaps his mind back up, like the moment when you pull the ripcord on a parachute, and it's as though he's been thrust straight back into the stratosphere: not objecting – Force, no – but certainly _resisting_.

It helps. On account of the fact that the sight of that blade has made his blood _burn_ , in a way even he is not prepared for.

" _Do your worst, you Sith maniac_ ," he hisses back, all the resistance flooding back into him. Suspecting it's what Kylo wants. Suspecting he wants something – some _one_ – to _break_.

Suspecting they both want the same.

"Oh believe me, I will," Kylo promises and the knife presses in, scratching the thinnest of lines down from below under his ear, over his throat, and down to his collarbones. His eyes are bright with longing, and he lets the edge pull a vibrant line of blood in its wake.

"I'll make you sing like the loudest of birds, Poe Dameron. Did they train you for this? Did they train you to resist a _Sith_?"

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," Poe cries out, the sensation feeling like more than he can handle… even though he knows it isn't. The very real terror in his chest merging with the most intense, undeniable _need_. "I won't give in to you. I _won't_."

Of course he will. But the words feel so liberating to say. Liberating because he needs to see how wrong they are.

"Oh, but you will," Kylo purrs, the blade staying where it sits, pressed somewhere in the centre of Poe's chest, pushing against his breastbone. He doesn't even need to apply much pressure to make it hurt, there, where the skin and muscle is thin over bone. "You'll give me everything, and you'll beg me to take it. You'll offer me the whole galaxy, and be pleased if I burn it to ashes in an offering to you…"

Abruptly, a finger made entirely of the Force pushes up and between Poe's clothed legs, thrusting into him and spreading him wider. He knows it will sting, and that's half the point. 

Poe cries out, shocked – _overwhelmed_ – and trying hard not to beg out loud. He won't. Not until he _has_ to. "I won't give you a thing. Break me if you must, but you won't win."

 _Break me_ , every inch of him is crying out. _Break me. Show me what I'm made of. Show me what **you're** made of._ He tugs against the rope, needing to know how firmly he's held. Needing that moment when the sensation whipchords through him, bright and undeniable.

 _Needing_.

"Oh, I will. I'll break you into a million pieces. I'll hurt you so much you call me _Master_ and offer me everything you've ever loved," Kylo purrs, his voice sure and firm. He flickers his fingers in the air, and the sensation deep inside Poe moves to follow the gesture. The blade tracks lower, and he slashes a very, very fine line across his stomach. Barely enough to break the skin, but enough for him to _feel_ it.

"You're going to give me everything. What is a Pilot against a Dark Lord of the Sith? What is a _Human_ to a **Master**?" He scrapes the vibroblade across Poe's hip, and punches him firmly in the gut with his other hand. 

The impact makes Poe cry out, partly in pain but mostly in shock. Trying – fighting, struggling – not to simply give in. It would be so easy to give in. To offer the other man anything. To do whatever he says. But… perhaps this is not the point.

Perhaps both of them needs this. Kylo, to do it, and Poe… to _endure_ it.

 _Please, please, please_ , he wants to scream. _Mercy, mercy, please_. But… the words simply won't slip out.

"I… will not… be intimidated. Not even by you…"

Kylo's eyes are black with lust, with power, with hunger. They match his clothing from head to toe, and his fingers around the blade squeeze so tightly the handle hurts his palm. Poe might fight him (and he might like it), but they both know how this will end.

The rope moves up with a thought, Poe's feet lifted clean from the ground as he hangs his whole weight from his wrists. The blade presses harder, and there's a sudden _press_ against his mind. Not pushing in, but making him **aware** how easily he could do it.

"You will. You will surrender everything; your squadron, your General, your whole Resistance. You will give them to me, and I will own you, Poe Dameron. I will own your soul."

The knife pushes into the trunk behind him, but that's not how it must feel when Kylo spears Poe's mind with the Force, making him think it's gone into his hip, spearing his flesh with the constantly-moving tip. The pressure inside him starts to move, starts to pulse at the same time: caught between extremes of pleasure and pain. 

" _Please!_ " Poe cries out, desperation and terror and _agony_ getting the better of him. Snapping him in two, the way it did back on the _Finalizer_. "Don't… please… mercy… mercy…"

His mouth is just running, every thought and feeling rushing to the fore and being given voice. The terror at is all is… mind-blowing. Mind-blowing and intoxicating beyond any semblance of common sense.

"I won't, I won't… no more… no more…" Resisting and pleading at the same time. On the brink, but not yet falling. Though he isn't consciously aware of much of it anymore.

" _Yield_ ," Kylo insists, the two focal points of movement continuing, his mind playing Poe's like the finest, most precisely tuned instrument. He ups the movement, the speed of both vibrations: the fake-blade and the fake-cock at once. They move in unison, pulsing and radiating heat of two different kinds that meet in the middle. 

"Surrender. And I will show you bliss, Dameron. You will be my consort, my _slave_ , and I will show you pleasure upon pleasure." 

"I won't give in, I won't, I won't, I…"

The words trip off Poe's tongue, but he's barely aware of them now. They exist in some other-world, a world so far removed from his own that he hardly knows it is there. Something in him really _won't_ surrender, though. Something that needs to see just how inevitable all of this is.

"Do your worst. I won't give in to you…"

It would probably help if he looked convincing. If the expression shining in his dark, pleasure-shot eyes wasn't wholly _under_. But… still, he tries.

Any moment now, he'll snap. Completely. And, on some level, he knows it.

The pain goes, fading slowly, leaving an aching, empty absence where once it was. Kylo wraps a hand around Poe's neck, holding him in place. He lifts the blood-smeared durasteel up to his eyes, lets him see the stark, iron-rich red over darker metal. Lets him see that he's bleeding red, not orange. The colour of the First Order, and not of the Resistance.

"You know you want to give in to me. You knew it the moment you let your blaster sing. You could have run, could have hared away in the sands and buried your head like a worm. But you didn't. You jumped up and demanded my attention…"

His fingers press harder, finding pulse-points and pushing down, slowing the flow of blood to his brain. "But you knew you belonged to me. You felt it, the bonds that bind us together, as much as gravity cleaves to the planets. You knew you would bend towards me, you knew you would _break_ to follow my course: a gravity well you could never escape. Stop burning your fuel, Poe Dameron. Stop fighting my pull. You will never be free from me, so long as you draw--" and here the feeling between his legs gets wider, spreading his hole as wide as his body will allow, "… _breath_."

" _ **YES**_ ," Poe gasps out, like a man possessed. He _is_ a man possessed. _Owned_. "I… all right… all right… just tell me what you want… anything… _anything_ … please, please…"

He's speaking on autopilot now, the sensations overwhelming and more than his mind can cope with processing on a normal, rational level. He shakes like he's cold as ice, body hanging helpless in the ropes still holding him up.

"…please… please… tell me what you want… please…"

"I want **you** ," Kylo replies, lust fogging his mind as surely as it does his lover's. "I want you, and only you. I want you on your knees and gazing up at me. I want you bent over my bed. I want you tied in knots and writhing like a wanton. I want you pressed against the cockpit of your X-Wing, your flightsuit pushed to one side as I fuck you raw. I want you with your hands in my hair as you ride me to your completion. I want you biting the sheets and sobbing my name. I want you bloody, bruised, and chanting my name like an orison. I want…" and now he twists the feeling inside him, brushing with the Force against that place inside him, but not letting his release hit. "… _you._ "

But he doesn't let him come, not really. His mind fucks into Poe's body over and over, his vibroblade dropped and his fingers throwing gloves to one side so his nails can scrape pink, sharp lines over his flanks and to his hips. He slams their foreheads together, and thrusts into his mind as he does his body. 

" _Yes!_ " Poe cries out again, but it's more of a scream this time; broken, shattered, needing, desperate. "Anything… anything you want… anything you ask… anything you say… I'm yoursI'myoursI'myoursI'myours…"

And he drops. Not just physically, but mentally, falling into the other man. Not fighting him in the slightest now. The world goes instantly hazy, and slow, and the very perception of sensation in his mind seems to shift.

"Please…" he murmurs, and it's clear he's begging, now; begging for _more_. "Please, please… anything… anything…"

Kylo smiles. Oh, he loves that. He loves the sound of Poe's voice breaking before him, and he loves the way he can feel the other man's sense of the world go. All of a sudden, it just… changes. Like seeing in colour, if you'd only ever known shades of grey. Or the reverse. Or… something. He slides his hands around to Poe's fully-clothed ass and kneads hard at the muscles, his Force-fingers parting and scissoring him open. No slick, but he doesn't need it. Raw, dry, and rough… and beautiful, like Poe is.

"Tell me you're mine, and only mine. Tell me no one will ever enter you again, Poe. Tell me your pleasure is only at my whim, your heart belongs only to me. Tell me you _belong_ to me. Tell me, and I will make you see the stars in the way only one beloved by the Force itself can see." 

"I'm yours," Poe murmurs, the words just pouring out, now: hazy and distant and desperate, but cripplingly, cripplingly heartfelt and honest. "I'm all yours. Yours forever. Yours and yours alone. I'll do whatever you say. Breathe at your whim. Kneel at your feet. I…"

He can't lift his head. Can _not_. And the broken surrender in his voice is writ large, for the other man to hear – and enjoy – as he wishes. "…I'll do anything… anything… please… _Master_ … please…"

His mind is drifting further under, now, beyond the haze of need and the weight of words, and into something deeper and undeniable and wonderful beyond the realms of reason. Something he waited his whole adult life to find. Something he can't, now, live without.

Kylo snaps his fingers and Poe's pants pool around his ankles, his hands grabbing for his boxers and sliding those down, too. He stamps a foot between Poe's ankles, pushing them over his boots and leaving him only in socks and footwear. He's still strung up so high that his wrists take all the weight, and he's going to feel it, come the morning. No matter. His hands grab at Poe's thighs, spreading his legs and lifting him up. Lifting him up, and taking his weight. He opens his own pants with a quick hand, and holds his cock in place. 

Just the tip. Just the very tip, pressed between his thighs. Poe can wriggle all he wants, but it's going nowhere without Kylo's decision. He wraps an arm around his waist, the other around his shoulders, and he speaks again. "Beg me. Beg me, and I'll take you so hard you'll never want another, Poe. Beg me, and I'll fuck you so hard you'll never walk without remembering this night again. **Beg me and I will own your body as much as I own your soul**." 

"You already do," Poe gasps out, the world a distant memory now, and all he knows reduced to sensation and desperation. "You already do… Kylo… _Master_ …. I promise you… I promise you…"

The words keep tripping off his tongue, barely coherent and yet filled with so much meaning, never losing their weight. He's not aware he's doing it, anymore – not on any conscious level – which stands as some further proof of how much he means it all.

"…Take me. Fuck me. Hurt me. Own me. I'm yours, I'm yours, I'll do anything, I swear it… fuck me, please… let me give you everything… please… please…"

Kylo holds Poe against his chest, and then _snaps_ through the ropes in one short, sharp shot. Either the knots unravel, or the strands unweave, or… something else entirely, but the resistance goes and Poe's dropped down and onto his cock in one smooth, fierce movement. Gravity spreads his body around Kylo's cock, and the taller man slams him backwards into the tree trunk.

He's barely had time to breathe from that before teeth sink into the curve of his neck, and Kylo's fingers press bruisingly hard into his skin as he starts to fuck his lover in earnest. It's not cheating, using the Force for this. It isn't. It's… it's just _right_. 

" _ **YES!**_ " Poe howls, loud enough to echo off the ancient buildings. Loud enough to echo deep in his core, where all these feelings come from. "Fuck me, fuck me… I'm yours forever… pleasepleasepleaseplease… _**fuck!**_ "

He can't quite process all of it at once. Can't quite wrap his mind around just how much he _needs_ right now. He gives into the movement as it hits, crying out at the teeth on his neck – why it's this part, precisely, he can't say, but it is – and trembling as he's held roughly against the tree.

Even with his wrists unbound, he is the most caught person in the whole galaxy.

This means as much to Kylo as any self-mastery over his powers ever could. He's sure he could make Poe react like this without them, but it certainly helps to _speed_ things up. His fingers mar the other man's hips with the force he uses, marking him in ways that will take days to fade as he takes him so fiercely the tree groans under the pressure. 

His mouth moves to the front of Poe's exposed throat, sucking and swallowing and marking him there, too. He wants to leave traces of himself over every last inch of hide, his black, stiff clothes against Poe's soft, tender skin. He grabs Poe's hands, then, and laces their fingers together to slam them into the tree. Up and up and in he ruts, taking the trembling, shaking, tight little hole with all he has. Kylo knows he's not going to last long, but Poe is barely keeping it together, and he _needs_. Oh he **needs** all right. He bites up to his jaw, and then… into his mind he goes.

Easy, when he's like this. As easy as think it and he's in that mad, swirling, peace-but-fierce mess that is Poe right now. He pushes in with all he can, sending wave after wave of gut-aching need and bliss into his lover, his mate. He moves all of a sudden, slamming Poe onto his back in the grass, fucking him through the mud as his head says _Come. Come, Poe, come for me_. 

One moment the world is upright (firm, rough, pinned, tree) and the next, it has shifted through ninety degrees (held, caught, owned, _used_ ) and Poe is on his back, held down, fucked, owned, possessed, _broken_.

It is… the greatest feeling in all the world. In the whole, Force-be-damned universe. The pilot's mind slips away to nothing as he lies, unable to do anything but take this, endure it, revel in it, _need_ it.

He's agonisingly close, and still it takes the push in his head to send him over the edge. That, and nothing else. That knowledge that Kylo has him on a level that few could step to, and none would truly match.

That knowledge that he belongs to this fierce, wonderful, game-changer of a man, and nothing will break them apart.

The internal order to come almost takes him by surprise. It's a mercy he didn't expect, but it's one he'll gladly accept. He comes as soon as the words smash into his mind, arching up against the man on top of him, _screaming_ incoherently, completely unable to get an actual word out. It's a near-agonising length of time before it stops, too; before the pleasure subsides and he's left shaking beneath his lover, the last vestiges of the world slipping gradually away.

Kylo manages to survive the first wash of Poe's pleasure, but he can't cope forever. Poe's so bright and alive when he's blissed out, so fierce and beautiful and _right_ and a Light that burns him from the inside out… that Kylo's following with a grunt, a howl that's as honest and as loving and as Poe's own cry; the mirrored, answering half of his pilot's visceral bliss.

Poe. Poe who saves him. Poe who gives in, but not through weakness. A strength, a strength that lights fires all the way inside him. A connection so vital, so fundamental, that it arcs like the heat clings to the flame. He bites and kisses at his neck, at his mouth; mad, hungry, desperate touches that say he's as lost as Poe is. Kylo collapses on top of him, breathing shakily and brokenly. He's as shattered as Poe is, it just… it's different.

Perfect. Right.

The pilot drops back when his climax finally abates, gasping for air that never quite seems enough, the world distant and barely-existent and defined – utterly – by the man on top of him. The man who owns his heart and soul. He wants to just collapse into it, begging for comfort, for arms around him, for kisses, but something deep at his core pushes back.

Not because he doesn't want any of those things. He does. But because… he wants more than that, and the _darkness_ that has slipped into his blood will not fade.

"…Yours… yours…" he murmurs. "Take me… break me… don't stop… please…"

He's not consciously aware of what he's asking for. Not even close. Though… that doesn't stop him meaning it.

A hand around his throat, the touch both loving and painful. Kylo presses down on the arteries, limiting the bloodflow to Poe's head. Presses down on his windpipe, making his breathing ragged. Presses down inside his mind, unleashing a torrent of thought, feeling, want and need.

Dark things. Poe strapped to a chair, his brow blooded and his hands curled in a rictus of pain. Poe stretched, spread-eagled so his back and arms and thighs show every muscle, and a blade that presses along each line and carves the faintest love-letters into his skin. Poe slammed down onto his knees with his throat full of Kylo's cock, the way his eyes water and his lips glisten and his throat works as he has no choice but to swallow. Poe, fucked so hard the sound of skin-on-skin is deafening…

…and others. Mingled in, and just as bright. Poe with his head in Kylo's lap, gazing lovingly up as secrets whisper back and forth. Poe wearing a sweater that's miles too big for him and smells of his partner. Poe wrapped up in a small woman's proud arms as she thanks him. Poe snoring softly as his lover listens and breathes and feels at peace. Poe laughing when the dessert they order is too big and they end up trying to feed it to one another instead of waste anything. Sunlight filtering through fabric, gliding over his skin as they talk for longer than the world might want them to. Songs in the shower, and a thumb sliding over his knuckles and an overwhelming sense of _right_ and **belonging** and **_safety_** and **_love_**. 

Kylo pushes this all in at once, gives him his dream of them. Half-dream, half… future echoes. A life he thinks could happen, a hope and a craving and a question and a promise, all tumbled into one. He presses his forehead against the other man's, and whispers in a voice rent in two: "I want all of you." 

"You have all of me," Poe whispers back, overwhelmed and overwrought and _humbled_ , almost on the point of tears. "You have all of me, Kylo…"

Then his mind slips sideways, and he's gone. No… not _gone_ , per se. He's still here, still lying beneath his lover, still haloed by soft grass, still under the rapidly-darkening sky. He can still hear the rush of the waterfall, the rustle of the trees, the comforting sound of the other man's breathing.

But… it's all distant, and all caught in a wave of something much bigger, something new and wonderful and bright and dark and perfect and terrifying all at once; something he didn't know was there until it hit. He doesn't dare move, doesn't dare make a sound beyond the soft little murmurs he can't hold in, his body aching with a low, dull heat that's intoxicating and lovely, and filling him up with flickers of craving that – still – won't completely die down.

Kylo smiles, even though he's crying. Silent tears, but they streak over his cheeks. He's never dared want that, before. Never thought he could have either of it: the violent, bloody, sheet-ripping lust, or… the other. The quieter, softer, caring things. But he does. He craves them as sure as his body needs air. His heart wants Poe, and not just as a plaything. He wants a life with him, with all it entails.

And just as Poe's given him everything, in confessing his own sins, his own desires, his own flaws and his own weaknesses… Kylo's given him something not even Snoke with his ever-present _clawing_ ever got out of him. The tiny little box of hope he slammed so far down inside that all he normally felt was the outside of it, a gap and a hole in his landscape, without daring to connect with what was inside. 

Kylo's sure it's safe with Poe, though. He thinks maybe he could pluck it out of his own breast and slide it into Poe's open, loving heart and keep it there. Away from the First Order, away from the Dark Not-Master, away from danger and forever safe. He kisses Poe's face over and over, whispers of his love, of his own surrender, of his surety and of his promise to keep Poe from harm. He kisses and holds him until he knows Poe's all but unconscious, and then he rolls them carefully and pulls out. 

A hand reaches out with the Force for the remnants of his own cape – he'd brought it here, on purpose – and he drapes it around Poe like a blanket before picking him up and walking him back to the pod. More promises, more love-letters from his tongue as he takes him back to safety.

At some point the droid realises they're moving and whirls in closer. 

BB-8 has seen a lot from a distance, over the last few days, but Poe and the little droid have never really talked about what's going on. Not _really_. It's obvious on one level, yes, but on another…

The astromech approaches cautiously, aware that its master is barely-conscious and wrapped in the other man's arms, and not at all sure how to broach any of the questions spinning through its thought patterns.

A pause. Then several bleeps, and a gentle little nudge at Kylo's heels, asking if Poe is OK. It seems as good a place as any to start.

"Yes. He's… happy," Kylo answers, apparently not as offended by the question now as he would have been a few days ago. He did, after all, tell the droid it could approach them afterwards. "Just very… tired. Emotionally and physically." 

Several more bleeps and whistles, and BB-8 nudges at Kylo again, staring up at him with a little tilt of its central dome. Now asking if it can help look after Poe, needing to be nearby.

"He doesn't need any physical assistance, but you can stay close," he agrees. "When he comes to, he'll likely be pleased you're here. And if he hears you talking, it will also soothe him." 

It's not going to be easy to even let the droid do that, Kylo thinks, but he doesn't have to actually worry that BB-8 is going to steal Poe from him. It's just… Poe's the first good thing, the first thing that's _his_ , and the concept of him having parts of him that aren't to do with Kylo are… well. Unsettling. But he is going to need to get used to it.

"I… apologise for taking up so much of his time. He does care about you, but… I love him." Pretty much should go without saying by now, Kylo thinks, as he uses the Force to make the bed ready for them, and lowers them both to the ground. "And I know you do, too." 

There's a little pause, almost as if the droid is nervous, and then BB-8 chitters again, still watching them both. Telling Kylo how much it cares about Poe. Telling Kylo that the most important thing is for the pilot to be happy. Admitting that things have been difficult of late, but that it trusts the Sith now. Trusts that he means it when he says how important Poe is to him.

Also reminding him that it has a shock-probe and a flame-torch. But this is said – as much as is possible in Binary – with a hint of amusement and mischief. Not any kind of serious threat.

"I will bear it in mind. You are a formidable foe," Kylo tells the droid as he settles with Poe against his chest. "Indeed, if the Resistance could just make enough copies of you, I'm sure the rest of us would be entirely redundant." 

A pause, and then he pats the ground beside him, offering to let it come closer. 

BB-8 agrees wholeheartedly, whirling around a little, and then moves in – cautiously, at first, but faster once it sees the look on Poe's face: utterly blissed-out, and long-since slipped from the world. It bumps up against Kylo, staring at him carefully, appraisingly, and then stays where it is, half-pressed against the Sith, and half-pressed against Poe.

Kylo nods at the astromech, not quite to the point of petting it, and then lies back. He feels… he feels… better. Good. He'd worried that he might take things too far, or that Poe might react badly to memories of their first few meetings, but… no. It had gone even better than he hoped.

His pilot is mumbling nonsense words, fingers tangling in his sweater, legs wrapped around his own; and the droid is restful, too. He's still not wholly sure how he managed to convince them both that he was worth the risk, but he's damn sure he's going to give it everything he has. Everything.

Head dropped onto Poe's, he closes his eyes and lets his sense of self slide out. Out, and past just his body. Out, like a liquid spilling into the surrounding tablecloth. Out, and out, and then, consciousness nearly one with the trees themselves, he slips into sleep along with Poe.

*** 

When Poe awakens the next morning, there's light falling across his face. He blinks his eyes open, mind slowly trying to grasp where he is and how he got here. He's in the pod, but he doesn't remember going into it. The last thing he remembers is…

_…cooling twilit air on his skin, the feeling of Kylo on top of him, the drifting sensation of reality opening up… the rustle of the soft grass, the distant rush of falling water… and a low, dull, wonderful ache filling him up…_

His awareness snaps back to the present, and he can feel it, now: the lingering sensation all the way through him. The lines across his skin, where that vibroblade left them. A roughness in his throat, a stiffness in his wrists. It's…

…Incredible.

The world starts to rush back more and more. He's lying in the pod, with Kylo spooned in tight behind him, arm around his waist, keeping him close. But what's more, BB-8 is here too, pressed up against his front, watching him.

"…Hey, you," he murmurs. His voice is somewhat wrecked, but in a very good way.

The astromech gives a series of soft bleeps, and Poe smiles.

"All night, huh? You keeping an eye on me?"

BB-8 chitters, attention swivelling slowly between Poe and Kylo.

"On both of us? You're so thoughtful like that."

This gets him a slightly louder beep of agreement, and the little droid bumps up against him.

"I assumed you wouldn't object," comes the gravelly, sleep-rough voice from somewhere in his neck. Kylo's eyes are still shut, and his knees bent into the L-shape of Poe's legs. They're in a mess of sleeping bags, blankets, and torn shreds of cloak. 

"Object? I'm touched," Poe murmurs, snuggling a little more firmly back into the other man's arms. "Me and this little guy have been through a lot. It's important that the two of you get along…"

BB-8's head moves in a nod of agreement, all but purring in Poe's arms.

Kylo snorts, and gives Poe a lingering kiss to the side of his jaw. "I don't doubt it. It even resisted when you ordered it to follow me. Loyalty like that is… difficult to argue with." Kylo's not sure anyone but Poe would ever do the same for him. He's certain no one so far would. (He refuses, point blank, to consider his 'old' family right now. They would do anything for 'Ben', but not for who he is now.)

"Are you in any pain?" 

Poe smiles some more. "Yeah…" he says, sounding far too happy about it. "Just a dull ache, really, but… yes. Though I don't mind at all…"

This is an understatement. He loves it. Loves the reminders of what happened last night. What they did. What Kylo did _to_ him. It doesn't even need to be intense: the flickers of sensation alone are enough, and they feel breathlessly wonderful.

"You were incredible," Kylo tells him, voice purring with a deep, lingering affection. "I have no idea how you do that, but you need to never stop. It's…" his hands tug him in tighter. "…men have gone insane for less, you know." 

This is far too lovely to hear. Poe actually blushes a little. "It isn't a conscious decision," he answers. "It just… happens. When you push, I just… _yield_."

There is some element of a conscious decision in there, of course. He has to _want_ what's happening to him, or it would never work, but the wanting alone doesn't explain that… that _place_ he goes to.

"You must…" Kylo pauses, stops himself. Deep breath, fingers tighter. "You must… be so sure that when you come back, you will still be you." Although he does have the benefit of knowing the man doing it to him has no desire to destroy him in the process, no need to change him to fit a pattern, a mould. "I envy how sure you are of who you are, of what you are." 

"I'm not a complicated man," Poe reminds him, gently self-deprecating. "It's easier to be sure of yourself that way. And… even then, I'm not always sure. Do you even _know_ what you did to me at the start of all this? The way you made me want things I didn't realise I could have?"

"You are infinitely complicated, intricate, and complex, Poe. Just because you approach happiness and pleasure more readily, it does not make you any less of a work of art." Kylo's tone is one of mild rebuke. "You think you are less because you can't see the Force? Or because you've never done something truly evil? I'm sure there's parts of you that could do wrong. I'm sure you've had to make your choices, and you've made the better ones. But you… you master the skies with only your senses and your mind. My uncle, my grandfather, they flew. But they flew with the Force, and you're just as good without it."

The Sith bumps his forehead into the back of Poe's, and squeezes as tightly as he can. "It doesn't make a person better because they have a talent. In fact, it makes them weaker. They rely upon it, and don't ever have to do things without it. And if you… if you'd had to resist Snoke… if we'd lived each other's lives… you would be my uncle's right hand man, now. The galaxy would be more peaceful, and you won't convince me otherwise." 

Poe closes his eyes at that, humbled by it. "…Then I'll just take the compliment," he says, quietly. He knows he's something of a contradiction in terms: a man who wants to be a hero, _the_ hero – chasing it, craving it, risking everything for it – but at the same time, a man whose instinct is to brush off the compliment, when it comes.

Maybe that's how he holds onto himself in the midst of all this.

Maybe… it's why he didn't end up on a different path. A darker path.

"So you should. I know greatness when I see it." His tone is wry, then, self-deprecating. "I was surrounded by it often enough, as a child. And you can hold a candle to every one of my extended family. So…"

BB-8 chooses to voice its agreement at this point, the melodic tones extolling Poe as the best master a droid could hope for.

"See. Even your astro knows I'm telling the truth." 

"Then you must be right," Poe answers, teasing very gently. "I –"

He's interrupted as, out in the amphitheatre, there comes the rough sound of stone scraping back, as another archway opens up.

"…The next test," Poe reasons, with a touch of apprehension. "It's early this time. I guess Sith don't get to sleep in so often…"

"We should grab a small bite to eat before we head out, but not leave it too long," Kylo says, butting his head into Poe's skull like a man applying head to desk. "This one should be fun. ' _Through victory my chains are broken_ '. I hope those are metaphorical chains, because no one gets to tie you up but me." 

"You can tie me up _any_ time you want to," Poe flirts, shamelessly. And boy does he mean it. "I suspect it will be less fun in there than it was last night, though, if the previous tests are anything to go by…"

He doesn't seem in a hurry to move, either. "Breakfast would probably be sensible," he agrees. "Every test has been harder than the one before it, which means that this one… yes. Breakfast would definitely be sensible. And…"

That's when one of his memories from last night filters somewhat insistently through.

"…And, you're going to have to lend me a shirt. Considering what you did to _mine_ last night…"

Oh, yes. Kylo remembers, now. It was a hasty move, one born of need and want and not really… carried through to the logical conclusion. "You mean I don't get to see you wandering around topless in the middle of the Sith Academy?" He smirks into his lover's nape.

"You are fortunate that I… brought a lot of layers. I'm sure you can borrow my undershirt, and I'll wear one of the outer layers." Another benefit of dating a Sith: there is no shortage of black clothing. 

"We're going to look like we got dressed in the Dark…" Poe muses, with the spoken capital very deliberate. "But that will work. Much as I'm sure _you'd_ enjoy seeing me topless all day, I'd rather the Sith of Old didn't get to say the same."

BB-8 bleeps something at him.

"I do not do it on base all the time!" the pilot insists at once. "Just… occasionally. First thing in the morning. Perfectly normal."

Possessive arms grab tighter, a little growl of disapproval from a very, very tall Sith. "You're going to have to stop that. You're mine, now. And I'm not good at sharing." 

It's bad enough that Poe has emotional ties to his droid. If he's going to let everyone see him, although Kylo knows they'll remember he's _owned_ , he's not sure he enjoys that idea. "Perhaps I'll leave more marks on you. So if you happen to forget to behave, then everyone will see where my hands and lips were." 

This gets him a low, rather approving sound in response. "Perhaps I'll enjoy that too much," the pilot replies. "Wandering round with _everyone_ knowing what you do to me. Or… they'll think they do, at least. But really they won't know the half of it…"

Contrary to his words, he is just flirting right now. He may be comfortable with a lot, but he's not quite so brazen. Especially given that he knows Kylo really isn't.

"No, they won't. Unless we get a room without soundproofing, in which case everyone on the planet will know just how hard you like me to give it to you." This is about as close to exhibitionistic as Kylo can get, and although he's not… cruel with his words, it's clear from the undercurrent that he's still more than a little self-conscious and insecure. 

He slips his hands under the sheets, teasing at the very faint scratch-marks the vibroblade left. He was careful to only mildly scratch and scrape, not to do any lasting damage. Just minor abrasions that will sting, but not get infected. 

"…but marks… marks I can leave. Maybe I should give you one before we escape. One last, lingering _kiss_ that you feel for days after…" He shunts his hips at him, then slips from under the bedding to start sorting out the clothing. Poe's much shorter than him, so they have to be sensible about who wears what, before he ends up looking like a drowned womprat. 

"You sort breakfast, I'll do our wardrobe."

Rolling so he's flat on his back, with a hazy, pleased look in his eyes, Poe grins and pulls off a very sloppy salute. "As you wish."

And then, because all of his clothes are still in the oasis, he slips out from the tangle of blankets completely naked, flashes BB-8 a smile, and then paces off out of the pod looking like a man without a care in the world.

What's to come will likely test them to their limits. But that's no reason not to enjoy himself a little first.


	17. The Dark Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, people. Hugs and hard liquor at the ready.
> 
> Warnings for child abuse and inappropriate sexual discussion.

Though neither man is outright delaying, they're also not wholly quick about getting ready for what lies ahead. Eventually, though, all that needs to be done is done, and there's nothing more to hold them back.

Poe rather wishes there was. He may not have the Force, but the new archway that's opened up, further still down the amphitheatre, gives him a powerful sense of unease every time he looks at it. Or thinks about it.

He's wearing one of Kylo's undershirts now. It's a little large, but it's also still intact, and that is something of an improvement on his previous one. He cinches it in tight under his blaster-holster, and then stands looking at himself in the calm waters of the lake.

Involved with a Sith Lord. And now, dressing like one too.

He smiles. BB-8 bumps his heels and chitters.

"I am not _preening_ ," the pilot insists, a little guiltily.

But he is.

It's time. Patting BB-8 on the top of its central dome, Poe heads over to where Kylo is waiting for him, and together – leaving the astromech staring after them – they head up to that new archway.

It's dark. And ominous. And the more Poe stares into it, the more he feels like it's staring back into him.

And that's unsettling.

Slowly, cautiously, the two men start to pace into the darkness. The corridor around them gradually fades deeper, deeper, and suddenly Poe just knows, he _knows_ , that it isn't simply a lack of light.

He turns to the side, about to ask Kylo what he can sense through the Force, except… Kylo is no longer there. Jumping with alarm, Poe immediately turns his eyes forward again, and – in front of him – everything has changed.

Everything has changed, and he's looking down at a small boy with dark hair, aged no more than five or six. A boy he remembers, if distantly, from days long past.

Ben Organa-Solo.

***

Ben Organa-Solo is sitting, cross-legged, playing with his toy freighter. It's not like his dad's ship, because they don't make models of the light freighter, Corellian YT-1300 series. Even if they maybe should, because his dad's ship is awesome. It's great to play hide and seek in, because it has nine million places to hide. Ben found most of them himself, and he knows his dad was proud of him (when he eventually found him each time he went missing in between the visible bulkheads and the weird little gaps that surround things). This one is a newer model, and he zooms it about making spaceship noises that aren't entirely accurate, but he doesn't care. His tongue sticks out with concentration, and he doesn't even notice the other boy calling out to him. It isn't until a shadow falls over his face that he looks up. 

The other boy is a Rodian, and he tells Ben that he should share his toys.

"This one is mine," Ben insists, and pulls it closer to his chest. 

"I want to play with it," the Rodian says, and he tries to grab for it.

Ben watches in horror as the wing snaps under green fingers, and he _shoves_ at the other boy, his anger manifesting in an uncontrolled flare of Force-ability. One of the teachers comes over and finds the Rodian sobbing, but Ben's already on his feet with his hands balled into tight, angry little circles.

"He started it!" Ben insists.

"You should never hurt someone else," the teacher tells him.

"But he broke my toy!"

"You don't get to hurt people just because they upset you. I think you need some time to calm down, don't you?"

***

Ben fumes at the wall. He didn't start it. He shares plenty of things, lots of the time. It's just that it was his favourite toy and he doesn't get why he should have to let other people have it when it belongs to _him_. It was a gift from Uncle Luke and now it's all broken and even though the teacher told him it could be glued back together, or a replacement bought, it's not the same. 

He doesn't want a fixed ship. He doesn't want another ship. He wants what he used to have, and can't have any more. 

The isolation doesn't calm him down, even if it prevents him from lashing out at anyone else. He feels like he's being punished unfairly for something that wasn't his fault, and he kicks at the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

_Yes, that's right. You were standing up for yourself_.

The voice that comes is tongueless, and Ben winces. His dad says he's too old for imaginary friends, and he hasn't told his mother about it, since then. There's no one here with him, but he knows the voice isn't just inside his head, somehow.

"I don't take other kids' stuff."

_Perhaps you should_.

"I have enough stuff," Ben replies, huffily. He slumps down to sit on the floor, knees tucked in to his chest. He does have plenty of stuff. He doesn't get every single new big thing, but he has all the study equipment and shoes and clothes he needs. He's vaguely aware that not everyone can afford things, so he doesn't feel bad if his mother tells him he doesn't need _that_ precise new jacket that all the cool kids wear.

_They are punishing you because you are stronger than they are_.

Ben thinks about that for a moment, and he has to say he agrees with the voice. Whenever he does the slightest thing extra-ordinary, he feels the panic in the room rise. It's not like he's doing it on _purpose_. If he was, he'd do things like fetch his shoes without walking, or he'd make time stand still in recess, or he'd have a lightsabre or something like that. He wouldn't do things like shove bullies away from himself. 

_They know you are different, and they are afraid of you_.

In his head, echoing around and around, the voices he hears. Some of them he knows aren't spoken aloud, but snatches of thoughts he plucks from the air. They call him ugly, they say his ears are there to pick up signals from space. They say his nose looks like a Rodian's, or his legs are like an AT-AT. They say he's Darth Vader's grandson, and they say he's dangerous.

_Don't be friends with that boy_. He remembers one of the girls thinking that, in the voice of her mother. He'd offered her his juice box when hers had spilt all over her little tunic. He hadn't even meant anything by it, he'd just wanted to be nice because he felt how sad she was. The fear in her eyes and the shake of her head and then the laughter after he smiled sadly and walked away…

_Your power is nothing to be afraid of, Ben_.

He wishes it would go away.

***

At home, his parents are fighting again. He knows, because they always have the same faces when they do. His mother tucked him in with a kiss to his forehead, but he could see the lines around her eyes and mouth, and he reached out to try and soothe them.

Ben hates seeing people in pain. It hurts inside him, then, too. 

"Don't be sad," he told her. "I love you."

"I know, honey. I love you too."

And she did, he knew she did. But she was still in pain.

That's why he sneaks to the edge of the stairs, as close as he can get without his mother's preternatural senses kicking in. Their words are loud and there's hands on hips and he wonders if everyone fights like this. They don't do it every night, but they do it enough.

It's always about him.

"…did you do that when you were growing up?"

"No, Han, I didn't. I didn't know I _had_ the Force."

"Then why did you go and tell him he did?"

"Because I wanted him to make his own decisions, not have them made for him."

"Leia, for the love of… he's a _boy_."

"They used to train the Jedi young, Han."

"He's not training to be a Jedi!"

"But he could!"

"No!"

"Han, it's not your decision."

"He's my son."

"He's mine, too."

Ben bites his lip as he listens, and tries not to breathe. He knows he has the Force, has known from a very young age. Everyone around knows his surname – Organa-Solo – but also that he's as much Skywalker as anything else. He remembers asking the first time if he was going to be a Jedi, too. Remembers the way his mother looked her saddest then, and how he couldn't reconcile how excited he was with how she didn't feel the same way. 

There was never going to be any hiding it from him. Not after they found him trying to lift Chewie up with his mind and instead sending his fur ruffling up the wrong way. 

Apparently he's not as quiet as he thinks he is, because then he's being scooped up by an exasperated mother. He lets her, even though he thinks he's too big, and buries his face in her neck.

"Sweetie, I thought I put you to bed."

"I don't like it when you fight with Dad."

"We weren't fighting. Your father and I were… talking."

Talking loud and mad is fighting, Ben thinks, but he doesn't want to argue with her and make her even more upset. He nods, and lets himself be put onto the bed. He swings his legs back under the comforter, and pulls it up to his too-big nose.

"I didn't mean to push the boy."

"I know, baby, I know." A hand over his brow, calming and soothing. It doesn't work. "You have to remember to control yourself. You've got something not everyone has, and the people who don't… it's hard for them to understand what it's like for you. For us."

His eyes flicker down. He feels… guilty. He knows his dad doesn't have the Force, not like he and his mother and his uncle. He knows his dad glows super bright and loud, but that he can't feel the pain like Ben can. 

"I didn't want to hurt him."

"I know. You can just say sorry to him tomorrow."

"But…"

But he's not. Fully. Not really. He still burns with righteous, childish indignation about the slight, and how he's cruel and he takes things that don't belong to him and he knows he would have stolen it if Ben hadn't been able to do what he did. 

"Honey, I know. But you did hurt him, even if you didn't mean to. So you need to say sorry."

"All right." He's not sure wholly why.

***

Ben Organa-Solo stands in the middle of the circle, panicking. He's tried – oh he's tried – to keep away from Cody and his little gang. They're probably too young to be called a 'gang', but they feel like one. 

He just wants to be left alone, and he shoulders his satchel, head down. Every time he tries to find a gap in the ring, they close ranks and shove him back in. There's no teacher anywhere and he doesn't want to yell for help. His cheeks burn hotly as they pepper down a stream of insults, and he's starting to lose his focus.

Breathe. Breathe. Find the calm ocean. Find the blue skies. Find the hum of hyperdrive.

"You're a coward, you know?" comes one voice. Shrill, female. It shouldn't matter, but it does.

"I just want to go home," he mutters, under his breath. "This is stupid."

"You studying how to be evil?" someone else asks.

His eyes flash at that, and his head rises. "No. Calculus."

A hand grabs at his satchel, and he doesn't even think. He's terrified because of their numbers, panicking and angry and so damn **hurt**. Just because he's quiet, just because he likes to read, just because his family are known from outpost to outpost… he didn't ask for any of this, and he didn't ask to be moved from planet to planet whenever his mother had another long-term posting. He didn't ask to be put in with a bunch of kids who think he's a freak, and he didn't ask to be given the Force, either.

It isn't the Force he uses, though, it's a right hook. His fist impacts with a nose, and the smell of blood and the sound of popping fills the air. Hands grab at his hair and he starts to kick and thrash with no thought for anyone's safety, the frustration of many years sparking up in one terrible, furious storm.

He throws the Twi'lek off his back, then lodges his elbow into someone else's stomach. There's a yell and someone's on the floor. It's Cody, and Cody is a monster. He's done this. It's his fault, all his fault. Ben's boot smacks into his back, his attacks based on pure instinct instead of calculated. He kicks where gets him the most screams, and the anger and the fire in his belly pushes him on further. He's down on top of the boy (he seems so small, now, so unimportant and pathetic), hands around his throat and he tries to choke the breath out of him.

Someone tries to grab his collar, and he shoves backwards with the Force. They go flying, and Cody's face is going blue. Closer, closer, the fear and the smell of the boy's now-wet pants and--

…five of them drag him off, screaming and kicking and biting. 

He doesn't stop his fighting until someone yells his name.

" _BEN ORGANA-SOLO, YOU STOP THAT THIS INSTANT_."

It's his mother. His eyes flick over to her, and he realises what he's done.

***

Later, he sits with his hands in his lap. His mother wrapped Bacta strips across his bloodied knuckles, but they still hurt. They hurt because he lets them, because he deserves to let them. He flexes his fingers over and over to punish himself with the pain, to remind him of what he's done.

He nearly killed Cody. He nearly… he…

_It felt good_.

No! No. It didn't.

_The anger in you, the rage. It is part of you. It is who you are, deep down inside_.

"No," he whispers, and his fingernails spear into his palms to punish himself further. "No. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to."

_You did. You felt it. You felt the pull to the Dark. You felt how **powerful** it is_.

It's true that he's never felt quite as strong as he did, then. He's only ever shoved people away, or brushed through loud thoughts by accident. He has no training, not really. A few things his mother's talked him through, a few not-really real lessons from his uncle. 

He doesn't know how many of them he fought off, but he knows… he knows if his mother hadn't turned up that they'd have had difficulty stopping him.

_It is your legacy, Ben Skywalker_.

"Organa-Solo," he corrects the voice.

_You are born of Anakin Skywalker. The greatest Sith who ever lived_.

"Anakin was a Jedi. Darth Vader was a Sith." It's important, apparently, but Ben doesn't understand why the name thing is so relevant. People call him 'Darth Vader' when he did things they disliked, and 'your grandfather' or 'Anakin' when it's something they approve of. 

_You are a beacon of the Force, Ben. You are strong. You are untrained, but you could be so, so much more. You felt it, today. You know how impressive you could be_.

"The call to the Dark is one all Jedi must resist," Ben snaps, and jams his eyes tight shut. He wants to push the voice away, wants it to shut up. Wants it to leave him alone. He wants to study calculus, and he wants to fly a ship, and he wants to play with Uncle Chewie, and he wants a friend he can pretend to save the universe with, and he wants to make his parents proud, and he wants to just be normal. Just normal. Just a boy.

_Only the weak of will cannot embrace true power. You will never be a Jedi, boy. Your heart is too Dark inside. I have seen it_.

Ben screams and grabs the tray with the bandages on, and throws it against the wall. "SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP."

_Yes! See! You know it to be true. You know that you are too wicked, too cruel, too evil to ever be a Jedi_.

"I AM NOT. I CAN BE A JEDI. I WILL BE THE BEST JEDI THERE EVER WAS. SHUT. UP."

The transparisteel window shatters, and Ben puts his hands over his ears and screams until he's so exhausted that he can't hear anything at all.

***

Fighting, again. This time it's so loud that Ben doesn't need to go listen. He can hear well enough from his bedroom, even with his pillow over his head.

He knows what it will be. He knows his father thinks he's wicked. He's thought that way for a long time, and he hears the accusations about _too much Vader_ hurled at his mother, like it's her fault for the genes Ben carries. _Sure as hell don't come from the Solo family tree_.

Ben knows his father is afraid of him. They hang out less and less, and it's mostly Chewie who gives him the big hugs, now. Ben doesn't want to make his dad feel any worse than he already does, having such a nasty little boy for a son, so he keeps himself as far away as he can.

Trouble. That's what he is. Trouble. No control, no focus, no… good in him. He wouldn't keep lashing out at people if he was right, would he? He wouldn't have tried to get that girl to say yes to being his friend when he was five if he was a good person. He wouldn't have tried to convince his father to let him stay up later. He wouldn't have gone into people's heads without their permission, and he wouldn't have made Toni hit himself in the face when he said that Wookiees were just dumb, walking carpets made only to carry heavy things around.

Nice boys don't go poking in people's heads. Nice boys don't hide away in the corner so they don't accidentally overhear things they aren't supposed to. His mother never did this, and neither did his Uncle Luke, so it must mean he's wrong inside like the voice keeps telling him. Wrong and bad and awful and wicked and mean and dark.

_You will never fit in with them_.

His eyes hurt from the tears he's forcing back, and he knows the voice is right.

Nice boys don't hear wicked things inside their heads. And if they do, they don't believe them.

***

Uncle Luke gives him a hug when he comes to meet him, but Ben is terrified. Uncle Luke is supposed to make him into a Jedi, but he isn't sure he wants to be one, now. The voice tells him that the Jedi will burn out the love from him, or try to.

_You won't even love your mother any more, if they get their own way_.

"Love isn't wicked," he'd told the voice. "Love is good."

_The Jedi don't think so. They hate love, and pretend their hate is calm. They cut out your heart and put lies in their place. They would have you kill your own mother, if the universe would 'benefit' from it_.

Ben doesn't want to kill his mother, but when she kisses his head and pushes him away, he worries he'll never see her again. The most they've been apart is a few days, and now she wants to put him somewhere they can only holo-call? He's ten. He's ten, and he loves his Uncle but he wants his mother and he's supposed to be a Big Boy or something, and he just wants to hide away in his room and pull the covers over his head and cry.

Uncle Luke shepherds the young boy under his arm, and Ben won't let go of the bag with his things in. It's too big for him, but he's not going to let go of it, in case they take that, too. 

_Anakin Skywalker loved Padme Amidala_.

It's a story he knows very, very well. Their love was forbidden, and their children – his mother and uncle – should never have even been born. But it wasn't the only reason he fell, and Ben argues as much in his head.

_The Jedi wish you had never been born, Ben_.

Much like his father in that respect, then.

_To be a Jedi, you have to give up everything. But it's all lies. They spout their dead philosophy of unfeeling knowledge. They would have you nothing more than a blaster-rifle, in the hands of others_.

'Jedi are the guardians of peace in the galaxy. Jedi use their powers to defend and protect, never to attack others. Jedi respect all life, in any form. Jedi serve others, rather than rule over them, for the good of the galaxy. Jedi seek to improve themselves through knowledge and training.' He thinks these words he's been told in rejoinder, trying to defend something he doesn't even understand.

_Jedi respect death. They worship the death of the self, the death of the heart. They put to the sword any who think for themselves. They have no place for one such as you, one with a heart. One with strength, and one with courage_.

It is not courage to hurt those who cannot protect themselves, he snaps back at him, even as Luke tries to get his attention. Something about the weather, or the food. Ben answers politely, and tries to push the little voice out.

_Jedi robbed children from their mothers. They took them away and kept them as slaves, as cattle. They turned them into killing machines, and they removed any who thought to ask them why_.

Anakin – Darth Vader – killed the children, Ben insists. 

They land on the planet, and Ben goes to see his new room.

***

It's worse, here. It shouldn't be. His mother promised that Uncle Luke would keep him safe, would keep the voice from talking to him. She said that the calm and the quiet would help him focus, help make him strong. She told him he would be a great Jedi, and that the doubt was normal.

There is doubt, and then there is a constant stream of violence and horror. Mental images of blood and bone and sinew. Waking up with your body reacting as if it's been fighting, a strange… pooling awareness in your lap and in your gut, tied to the vicious, cruel things you dreamt of. There's doubt, and then there's the sound of screaming and a rush of endorphins through your body that you didn't consent to, didn't want.

The first time he has a wet dream, Ben is disgusted. The sensation of pleasure is chased by a soul-deep horror, inextricably linked. Jedi aren't supposed to _love_ and they really aren't supposed to _lust_ and he didn't even touch himself. He just wakes in the throes of his first climax with the echoing laughter and a knowledge of death. 

He jumps out of bed and into the shower and he tries to scrub it all from his skin. He rubs his dick until it's raw and his hands are shaking, and he refuses to leave his room for the rest of the day. He won't even let the meddroid near him, and when Luke pushes into his room, he panics.

"Ben…"

"Please… please go away."

"Ben… it's okay."

No, no it isn't. Normal people don't find it arousing to think about pushing a lightsabre in between the ribs. Ben doesn't even know if it's his arousal or the voice's, and he doesn't even know if the voice is him after all, or that _other_ his mother kept saying it was.

"Please, I just… I just… I need to get through this training."

It's all he can think of to help. It helped the Jedi before him, didn't it? It kept their minds and bodies in check. It must just be him who's flawed, because when he closes his eyes and tries to empty his mind he sees such awful, awful things that he wants to--

Luke wraps his arms around him, and all Ben can think about is punching his hand so far into his uncle's stomach that he can pull out his liver and feed it back to him.

***

_Give in, Ben. Become who you were meant to be_.

His eyes are dark, now. Shadowed, from the lack of sleep. His teenage body wrought with enough havoc from hormones and growth spurts to begin with, his nights plagued by horrors and his days filled with lies.

He doesn't even have the ability to make his own arguments, any more. 

One minute the Jedi are good and noble and true, trying their best to keep everyone safe. Giving of themselves so that others may live in peace and prosperity.

The next, they're heartless villains who couch their own need for power in double-speak and political intrigue. They turn their own lusts into other things, and they are the cause of all his pain. Without them, he could just be. Be, like any normal person would. Fall in love, make mistakes, dance in the rain. He could be flying spaceships and going for sleepovers and getting soft kisses and laughing with his father.

One minute the Sith are villains who take what they need, but steal it from others. They hurt for the sake of it, they take pleasure in others' agony. They break the natural order of the universe and they destroy anything pure and beautiful.

The next, they're brave soldiers who fight for what they want. They don't lie about their desires, and they are meant to be in control. They are forced underground by the Jedi's pathetic lies and they should be the ones in charge, because at least they are honest about their perfectly normal needs.

_You will never be a Jedi. Too much Dark in you. Too like Darth Vader. Your father knew it, it's why he could never love you. Your mother saw it, it's why she sent you away. They will break you. They will take away the very last bit of you that is still you. You will be a tool, not a person. You will have no identity, you will be **nothing**_.

It's true, isn't it? He thinks so. He watches all the other faces, so serene, so calm. Sees how the life goes out of them as they subsume themselves to a peace he has never felt. He's terrified that to be one, he has to stop being him. Has to stop being Ben Organa-Solo.

He knows. He knows he can't ever be good enough.

_You are worthless, like this. Less than nothing. You are a slave. You have no meaning, no self. Rise up, rise up and let the Dark take over. You were meant to Master it, Ben. You were meant to take your place as my heir_.

Make it stop. Make it stop. He wants to charge up to his Uncle and steal his lightsabre and run it through his own gut. He wants the sensation of pain that is so pure, so real… so final. He wants it all to go the hell away and he is too afraid to do it. 

His hand reaches out, and he pulls one of the young Knight's sabres from their belt to his hand. The hilt obeys him, and when he presses it into his palm and clutches on tight, the other is too weak to even call their own blade back to them.

_The Dark Side is stronger than the Light. You will triumph. Rise, rise up and accept your destiny_.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and proves the voice is right. He slices through every last acolyte in the room, slamming their lifeless corpses aside to plough through them, one after the other. The screaming and the blood fills the air, but he doesn't feel aroused.

It's the only mercy the voice allows.

Kylo looks down at his hands, and sees the blood. He's bathed in red, and he knows it won't ever wash out. Not really. He's sure this is the part where the voice praises him, but it's a different voice he hears. 

His head flickers up, seeking out the source of the sound. A professional, detached voice. One relating facts as if they were nothing. He looks and he can see…

***

_"…Still no word from Giderra Prime, where several Republic battle-wings have been engaged by an unknown sect of Neo-Imperial fighters…"_

It's late, but Poe Dameron can't sleep. How could he possibly sleep now, when his mom has gone offworld and his dad won't tell him why? How could he possibly sleep when he _knows_ why, even without anyone saying it?

Outside it's dark, and the wind is making the low branches of the trees tap against his bedroom window. When he was _little_ , Poe was always scared that it meant monsters were trying to get in – to eat him, of course – but now he is _eight_ and no longer little and he knows it's just the trees.

Sometimes he forgets, though. Sometimes the sounds still remind him of monsters and he has to hide under the bedcovers with his palm-light and his data-port, reading stories on the galactic net about daring heroes and far-off places.

Not tonight, though. Tonight all he can do is lie listening to the holo-cast, hanging on the reporter's every word as they relate the news coming in from Giderra Prime. Everyone's been talking about it for days: the stories of the secret group of soldiers who still think the Empire should exist. Soldiers who still dress in terrifying white – like plasteel ghosts – and who want things to go back to the way they were a long time ago.

Things like this have happened before. Tonight is not the first night he's been listening to stories of far-off battles, but it is the first night in a long time that he's been so scared.

His dad won't tell him where his mom has gone, but he knows. He knew the moment she looked him in the eyes and kissed him goodbye several days ago. He knew the first time he saw his dad staring up at the stars all alone.

He knows. Shara Bey-Dameron, daring starfighter pilot, has gone to help the Republic at Giderra Prime.

His mom doesn't usually fight for the Republic – for the _Rebellion_ – anymore. She gave it up a few years ago – back when Poe was very small – so that the three of them could all live here, on Yavin 4, where it's peaceful and quiet and magical and the trees are as huge as cities and close to the base where General Leia Organa and General Han Solo live with their son.

Poe has seen the other boy a few times, but only from a distance. He wonders if Ben Organa-Solo ever gets lonely.

_"…news coming in now that the Republic is deploying further ships to Giderra Prime in order to push back the growing Neo-Imperial onslaught. Ground casualties are high, and the Republic battle-wings have already lost a number of pilots in the skirmishes…"_

Poe turns up the volume on the holo-caster, leaning in closer. He's scared. He's scared that his mom really is out there and that she might get hurt. Or worse. He's scared because his dad won't tell him what's happening and he's scared because there are monsters at the window and maybe they _are_ real and _will_ get in if he so much as peeks out from under the bedcovers.

He wants to be a pilot so very badly. He knows his dad is a soldier, and that's exciting too, but nothing could ever be better than flying. He lives for the days when his mom takes him out, skimming over the trees of Yavin 4 in her A-Wing, doing loops in the sky and sometimes – if he's good – taking them right up into orbit, so he can stare down at the whole world below.

_"…some kind of Star Destroyer emerging from the asteroid belt, deploying wings of TIE-fighters, and… by the Maker, they just keep **coming!** Reports are that at least three full squadrons have been decimated by the Neo-Imperial attackers and the Republic is already preparing to release casualty lists…"_

Poe curls in even closer to the holo-caster, so close he's almost resting his head against it. His hands are shaking, and he's so scared he can't even hear the pretend monsters at the window, because the real ones are out there in the dark of space and they're much, much worse.

_"…I've just been handed the first casualty manifest from a very alarmed-looking Republic liaison officer. They're giving me permission to broadcast the names because they want the galaxy never to forget a single one of them…"_

"Please not Mom…" Poe whispers, to any higher power that might be listening. He's not a Jedi and he doesn't have the Force but he knows it exists all around, and he hopes so very, very much that something or someone in it can hear him and make it so that his mother's name won't ever be on that list. Make it so that she'll come home, with her lovely dark hair waving in the breeze, and she'll kiss his dad and she'll laugh in that special way she does when she's really happy, and then both of them will gather him up into their arms and everything will go back to the way it's supposed to be…

_"…Jilla Kerrian… Zal-Te Azorn… Kian Illio…"_

With every name that passes, Poe feels two things. He feels sad that another brave pilot has died, and he feels glad that the name he's hearing isn't his mother's. And then he feels guilty because he shouldn't be pleased that someone else is dead, but it isn't that he's pleased someone else is dead, it's that he's pleased she _isn't_ , and it's not the same and doesn't make him a bad person, and…

_"…Shara Bey-Dameron…"_

Poe drops his little palm-light and puts both hands over his mouth, trying not to scream. He hears a sound in the distance – a sound like someone dropping something – but mostly all he can do is lie there in the dark, suddenly shaking, fighting back the tears.

She's dead. His mom is dead. His wonderful pilot-hero-mother. His dad's best friend. Their whole world. His mom.

Poe buries his head in the pillows and starts to cry. The tears come softly at first, but they soon build and build until he's trembling all over with the sadness and the pain of it all, the ache in his heart that feels like it will never ever go away. He cries and he cries and…

…Footsteps, in the corridor outside his room. He's not supposed to be awake this late. Panicking, Poe shuts off the holo-caster and his palm-light, hiding under the covers. He isn't fast enough, though: the door slides open long before he goes still, and he knows he'll have been found out.

"…Poe?" The soft voice of his dad, shaking too. Poe remembers the sound he heard just after the person on the holo-cast said his mother's name, and he wonders if maybe his dad was listening too, in a different room.

For a moment, instinct makes him carry on pretending to be asleep.

" _Poe_." A little more firm. Not angry, though. Sad. So very, very sad.

He's rumbled, and he knows it. Poe peeks out from under the covers, seeing his dad standing in the doorway. Light is spilling in from the corridor behind him, meaning that his face is almost hidden in the darkness of Poe's room, but he can still make out the tears on his father's cheeks.

"Dad?" Poe whispers.

Kes Dameron walks slowly closer, dropping down on one knee next to his son's bed. "You were listening to the holo-caster again, weren't you?"

Poe nods. "It was… it was news from Giderra Prime. I… I thought that…"

His dad closes his eyes for a moment. "You thought your mom had gone out there. You… you were right. General Organa asked for her help, and Shara… your mother… she couldn't just sit back and do nothing. So she went, to lead one of the starfighter squadrons, and…"

He trails off. Poe doesn't think he's ever seen his dad look like this.

"…and… well, you know now, don't you..?"

Poe nods. "The person on the holo-caster said her name. In the casualty list. They said… they said Mom is dead…"

He starts to cry again, tears that just keep falling, over and over, until he's shaking with it. His dad pushes up and sits on the bed beside him, gathering Poe into his arms and holding him, and Poe can't stop crying.

"What if it's not true?" he sniffles. "What if they're wrong? She might be OK. She might just be missing somewhere. She came back from Vetine and that whole _planet_ belonged to the Empire…"

"…It's true," his dad says, softly. "I got the call from Republic Command just before the broadcast went out. They told me the list was going live soon, so that I'd be prepared. So that I wouldn't have to hear it like that… but then they started reading it quicker than I expected, and I guessed you might be listening, and…"

He trails off, pulling his son in closer, and Poe presses deep into his father's arms, holding on tight. Wanting the embrace to be so firm that it pushes out all the other pain, even though he doesn't think anything could ever get _all_ of the pain out of him.

"We're all alone, now," Poe says, his voice shaking. "Aren't we? You and me, Dad. We're all alone…"

"We're not alone," his dad insists, but his voice is shaking too and Poe can hear how alone he sounds. "I have you, and you have me, and you have all your friends…"

"I know… but… Mom…"

"She's gone, Poe. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She's gone. She's gone. He wants to be a pilot so badly, and this is what it means: it means, one day, the people you love the most might have to cry in each other's arms because you're gone.

You're dead. She's dead.

It doesn't seem real. It's like something out of a story, one of the really scary stories where he has to keep reminding himself that it isn't true. But this… this is, and no matter how long he waits for it to all go away, it won't.

It won't.

It will follow him forever, an echo at his back, a shadow on his scope.

The dark place he'll never quite escape.


	18. Dark Pilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've still got that collection of liquor and hugs, people. It's about to get worse...
> 
> And no, we're not sorry for the chapter title! ;-)

It starts with the sound of klaxons.

Poe Dameron jumps awake, the echoing alarm running straight through him. He only put his head down for five minutes and even now – even _now_ – the galaxy will not give him a break.

Typical. He snatches up his jacket and swings it on, fastening it as he hurries to the door of his quarters. The blaster is next, slotted into its holster, and then he's out the room and into the familiar passageways beyond.

When he first came here, he thought the Starkiller Base would never feel anything like home. Too cold, too grey, too artificial and unreal and manufactured. But… he's gotten used to it. Gotten _fond_ of it, if truth be told, and not just as a result of familiarity.

Stormtroopers snap to the side as he stalks down the corridor. They, too, didn't seem able to accommodate him at first; their blank-faced helmets always swivelling in his direction whenever he went anywhere. They all saw him for what he used to be – the Resistance pilot he'd been when Kylo first brought him here – and it took a long time for trust to follow.

Trust. Fear. Either. It doesn't matter to Commander Dameron.

He catches sight of his reflection in the glass fronting of a door as he passes. He looks good in black. Tight, form-hugging black, appropriate for a TIE pilot. Or, indeed, for the lover of Kylo Ren.

The other man certainly seems to appreciate it.

Dameron makes it to the central command chamber of the Starkiller Base, which looks out across dark tundra towards the firing aperture of the galaxy-altering superlaser within the planet. The room is unusually busy, men and women at every single station. General Hux is here too, standing at the window, all crisp, dark lines and carefully-honed loathing. He turns as Dameron approaches, arching a brow and then returning to the view, letting his lead TIE pilot snap to attention close by.

"What's the situation, sir?"

"Troubling, to say the least," Hux replies. "We have several fighter squadrons on course here. _Resistance_ ships." He spits the last two words like a curse, voice seething with hatred.

"I see. Shall I despatch our people to intercept?"

"At once. Lead them to victory for us. For the First Order. For the Supreme Leader…"

Dameron smiles. "With pleasure."

***

The main hangar bay is a hive of activity when he arrives. Dozens of TIE pilots are hurrying across the dark metal tiles, heading for their ships. Fighters first – cannon-fodder, mostly – and then waves of Interceptors to follow in their wake. The Bomber squadrons are primed too, but they won't be needed unless the Resistance has brought larger ships to support their own fighters.

Or… unless the First Order is feeling particularly _firm_. Which, Dameron has to say, they are right now.

He should know. He's the one with the final call on that particular matter.

He hurries to his own ship, a modified TIE-interceptor with inbuilt proton-torpedo launchers and the gunner's station combined with the pilot's. Maybe all these other grunts trained either to fly or to shoot, but _he_ trained to do both at once, and he's not going to stoop to their level. He made that very clear when he started flying for them.

Dameron's fighter wing all rise up together, a little swarm of angular, grey-and-black death. They swoop out of the hangar bay in the wake of the Fighter squadrons, launching up towards the darkness of space, where the Resistance ships are spilling down towards them.

He squawks the radio. "All units, this is Alpha Leader. Come in with your weapons hot. Let's light the sky on fire with these guys!"

Several of the other TIE pilots let out whoops of agreement. They always used to be a quiet lot, all things considered, but he soon put a stop to that. Poe Dameron believes in being vocal, whatever the situation.

A squadron of X-Wings breaks formation around them, ships swooping left and right, obviously making a run for the planet beneath. "Alpha Two, Alpha Four, Alpha Seven, follow me back down!" Dameron calls over the radio, looping up and over with the other three interceptors moving into position behind him.

"Light 'em up!"

Laser cannon fire cuts the air, as they engage the X-Wing squadron. It's not an easy battle by any means – nor would he want it to be – but it isn't long before the first explosions are blazing into life, and most of them aren't downed TIEs.

"Yeeeee-haw!" Alpha Two whoops, circling around Dameron's ship and firing at precisely the same time as his squad leader. Two sets of laser fire rocket through the snowy air, and the X-Wing they've been aiming at – streaked with blue stripes – goes up in a sudden ball of fire.

"Nice shooting, Alpha Leader!" Alpha Seven calls out. "You want to tell us how you got so good at this?"

"Kicking your sorry asses until I realised you had a point!" Dameron retorts, easily. The others are used to him now, and they know where he comes from, and it's OK because they've had more than enough proof of his loyalties.

He's pulled from the moment as his radio crackles: not the squad's comm channel, or one of the others, but a personal line from the Starkiller Base itself.

"Alpha Leader, this is General Hux, do you copy?"

"Roger that. I'm here, General."

"Good. I need you to keep those Resistance units scrambled a little while longer. We're charging the weapon. In mere moments… we'll be ready."

"What's the target?" He doesn't know where they are, after all. The base moved in the night, but he hasn't been made aware of the destination as yet.

Hux tuts at him. "My, my, you are still the impudent one. I thought Lord Ren beat that out of you long ago."

"He likes it," Dameron replies, with a shrug that the General won't see.

This gets him a sigh. "Very well. Coruscant. The target is Coruscant. It's time we showed _everyone_ how serious we are. Hosnian Prime, D'Qar, Jakku… these were all merely warm-ups. After today, _no one_ will stand before us."

"It will be a day long remembered," Dameron concurs. "Copy that, General. We'll keep these guys entertained for as much time as you need."

"See that you do, Commander."

And the call cuts out. Filled with renewed vigour, Dameron squawks the radio once more. "All wings, this is Alpha Leader. Let's step this up! Time to show the Resistance that their days are numbered!"

It's little more than moments before the deep red glow starts to fill all of reality. Before the pilots are scrambling – quick and excited – to exit the firing zone as the Starkiller Base makes its final preparations. And then… then vibrant, world-shattering red lances out into space, hurtling across it.

None of them will see the precise instant it happens. They're all too caught in the moment, in the battle, and too far out to stand a chance of witnessing any more than a distant blaze of light. But they'll all see it in their mind's eye, Dameron is sure of it.

He sees it, after all.

He sees the moment Coruscant is ripped apart.

The moment, for all intents and purposes, that the First Order triumphs.

***

Yavin 4 is a mess, when the bombardment is over.

Dameron is surprised that General Hux and the Supreme Leader didn't simply order it destroyed with the Starkiller, but it seems they want to do this the old fashioned way. They want _prisoners_. It might turn out to be hubris, but at the same time it might well be too late for the Resistance even if some of their people _do_ stay true to form and stage a breakout.

None of it matters.

A unit of Stormtroopers at his back, Poe Dameron walks through the Resistance base on the surface of the planet. He knew they'd run here after they lost D'Qar. Everyone did. But still, the First Order has waited until this final, perfect moment to make their move.

And it's paid off.

Amidst the rubble of smouldering buildings and shattered trees, a line of prisoners is led from the wreckage. They're kicked to their knees as Dameron approaches, the troopers at his back, and all of them stare up, hands on their heads, agonised by what's happening.

Dameron scans their faces. He knows nearly all of them. He worked with them once. Fought with them once. Fought _for_ them once.

Until he saw the light. No. No. The _Dark_.

Captain Phasma approaches, silver armour shining in the late afternoon sun. "Your orders, sir?"

Dameron locks eyes with one of the kneeling prisoners. Leia Organa. Once his hero. Now… his enemy. She stares back: angry, defiant, noble, brilliant.

_Bested_.

"Kill them all," Dameron says to Phasma.

The echoes of the shots will stay with him forever.

***

General Hux is practically bouncing with glee when Dameron gets back to base.

"I must say, I'm impressed. I didn't expect you of all people to do that so quickly."

Dameron shrugs. "I'm the best."

Hux arches a brow. "True enough. But… wasn't Yavin 4 your childhood home?"

"It was." No emotion. No feeling. A statement of fact. "But I grew up."

"Quite," says Hux, dryly. "The Supreme Leader wants to see you. I recommend you do not keep him waiting."

This gets him a smile in return. "I never do."

***

The grand throne room of Starkiller Base is nigh-on thrumming with energy when Poe Dameron arrives. The guards outside snap to attention when they see him, allowing him entry without a word.

No one would question him here, of all places.

The room itself is vast, and high, and sweeping. It's the sort of room that the once-Emperor Palpatine – the great Darth Sidious – would have felt truly at home in. Dameron paces along the central walkway, crossing the floor to the point close to the huge back window, where the Supreme Leader himself sits, looking out onto the blackness of space.

With every step, the energy in the room, in Dameron's chest, seems to build and build. He doesn't have the Force, but he imagines that energy wrapping around him, pulling him closer. Drawing him in, inexorable, inescapable.

He'd have it no other way.

When he's close to the throne, he falls to his knees, dropping his head in deference.

"It is done, Supreme Leader. The Resistance base is crushed."

He looks up, as the Supreme Leader rises to his feet, staring down at his most loyal, most daring pilot.

"Well done," says Kylo Ren. "Very well done."

The other man has been Supreme Leader for months now. Ever since their – since _his_ – plan to take down Snoke came to glorious fruition. And, with Kylo Ren – Master of the Knights of Ren, Dark Lord of the Sith – finally at the helm, the First Order has become greater even than the Empire.

The Jedi are routed. Luke Skywalker is dead. The vision of Darth Vader is finally complete.

Ren reaches up, unlatching his helmet with a hiss and setting it down on the pedestal beside the throne, now regarding his daring pilot, his lover, with his own eyes.

Dameron looks up, meeting them. "All for you," he declares, softly. Surely. "All for you, _Supreme Leader_."

The man above him headtilts slightly. "Indeed? Then I truly was right all along. You were… useful."

Something about his tone seems… off. Dameron rises to his feet, which gets him a look that could cause lesser men to ignite.

"Did I say you could stand?"

A hand out, a push with the Force, and Poe Dameron is back on his knees. It's quick and rough, sending a little shock of pain through him, and under any other circumstances he'd enjoy it. Crawl right to the other man's feet. Suck him off, here and now, whilst they both revel in their victory.

But… no. Something is definitely wrong.

He looks up. "What is it?" he asks.

Ren's lips curl into a cold smile. "It's over, Poe. You lost."

_What?_ The words hit like a rough slap to the face. "…What do you..?"

A hand held up, making him fall silent. The other man has been in his head so many times, there are occasions when Poe isn't sure if the Force is affecting him or not. If… he's just obeying.

"There's something you should know at last. Maybe it would be easier if I simply… _let you go_ …"

A rough, deep sense of withdrawing, like someone yanking a long blade from far inside a person's chest, and Poe feels the grip subside in his head, falling away akin to an old, familiar chain. He gasps as though breaking the surface of deep water for the first time in… in _months_ … blinking at the world with eyes that feel as though they haven't truly seen for just as long…

The horror hits with the strength of a tidal wave, as the other man's control over him is swept back all at once. Lucidity flows like blood from a wound as all the things he's done, all the things he's _wanted_ , come crashing back to the fore, bright and overwhelming.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_. He killed hundreds of people. Led the First Order to the Resistance. Shot down scores of X-Wings. _Stood coldly whilst Leia Organa was murdered_.

Yavin 4 is burning because of him.

"…No…" he whispers, the anguish too much for his mind to process. "No… this isn't real… it isn't… you can't be telling me…"

Ren's smile doesn't fade. "It's all true. I admit, in the beginning I just wanted you for the map to Skywalker, and for the location of the Resistance base. And for your body. I did have my fun with that, didn't I? All those nights in my quarters, tied to my bed, screaming out your devotion, your loyalty. But the truth of the matter is that you were mine all along. The truth of the matter, Poe Dameron, is that I broke you. I broke you completely, utterly, totally, and then I slipped myself into your head and I made you _want_ it. I made you into my perfect little killer, my perfect little tool, with which to wipe out the Resistance. And just look how well it worked…"

Poe tries to stand again, but he can't. Ren is still holding him down with the Force. All he can do is stare up at the man, into eyes he thought he trusted, as his whole world comes crashing down around him.

"You always wanted people to know your name, didn't you?" Ren purrs. "You thought it would soothe the ache inside if you made enough of a difference to be _remembered_. And now… now everyone will know who you are. Poe Dameron. The man who handed victory to the First Order. To the scion of Darth Vader. To _me_."

" _Go to hell_ ," Poe hisses, trying to stamp down the agony of what he's done with some kind of rage. It isn't like him, though, isn't like _him_ at all, and the other man laughs.

"I thought of killing you so many times," Ren tells him, easily. "I could never quite bring myself to do it. So… I think I'll keep you. Sometimes lucid enough to realise precisely what you've done, and sometimes… sometimes _subdued_ enough to do whatever I say. To _want_ to do whatever I say…"

Poe struggles once more, trying to stand, but Ren just pushes him further down, holding him there, sending little shocks of pain sparking through his body, bright and terrifying and _arousing_ and…

No, no, no.

"Stop…" Poe whispers. Pleading.

And Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, smiles. "Stop? Poe… I've only just _started_ …"

The backhand strikes across his face, knocking his head to the side, and Poe tastes blood on his lip and…

_…distant shouting, the thrum of a lightsabre, but Ren's isn't drawn…_

Everything goes slow, and dark, and hazy… the illusion shifts… and two different figures swing into view.

And the world flips sideways.

***

Kylo Ren stands with his lightsabre in his right hand. The cracked kyber crystal arcs the plasma blade in one long, continuous loop. Even that isn't right. Even his blade wavers between two opposite poles: Light and Dark. Left and Right. Jedi and Sith. Good and Evil. Life and Death. A thin, jagged spear of indecision and terror. A small child cowed between the voices in his ear and the voices in his head.

He has always known he was. A child of two destinies, and never enough of either to be right, to be strong, to be happy, to be sure.

The blade crackles with how close it is to dying, and though he's told himself there is no problem with it, slammed people into bulkheads for even _thinking_ it's less than perfect, he knows it will do nothing against the man – the **creature** – that stands before him.

How can it? Special, he called him. A focal point, a perfect conjunction of both sides of the Force. Kylo knows those words were just meant to seduce him, to court him, to win him over. A fake love and acceptance offered by a monster, to pull him away from the real, fearful love of his family. A sinner's face, a liar's tongue, a villain's mind.

The Supreme Leader stares him down, and Kylo has to fight not to bow before his will, before his strength. The pressure is there like a blanket thrown over a fire, trying to put out his rage and his spirit. The old, old power he's known almost all his life. Always there, conspicuous now only in its absence. He doesn't even move his lips, he just presses down and down and down and down and Kylo knows. He knows, suddenly, that his is what Poe must feel like when he exerts his own will on his lover. Knows he's no better than this fiend, this beast, who would rip a child from his mother's arms and throw him, squalling, into battle.

No. NO.

He isn't. He… isn't. Poe wants him, where neither Ben nor Kylo ever wanted Snoke.

"You lie to yourself."

He isn't sure if the words are spoken outside or inside, he just knows that they are.

"I begged you to leave me in peace."

"You called out for a Master. You called out to be guided. You wanted the power, the strength."

"I wanted to be _left alone_ ," Kylo hisses, his voice catching in his throat. The pain in his temples gets hotter and harder, and he drops down to one knee in anguish. The mask on his face is shrinking, and he can't get it off. He can't get it off, and it's moulding to his features and replacing his face entirely.

He knows, suddenly, that the mask and he are one. That the black, lifeless eyes are his own. That if he were to rip the plating off, he'd find an empty, bloody mess within. A skull laid bare to the world, raw and filled with decay.

No. No, no, no. He staggers back to his feet, and he remembers his face. He remembers the lines of his cheekbones, and the proud – too proud – jut of his nose. The ears that stick out too much, the eyes that remind him of his father. He remembers these things, and he refuses to let Snoke rob him of himself.

"You enjoy the Dark, boy. You are too wicked, deep down inside. You are rotten."

"I have the Dark in me, but it does not make me death."

"You are not ready to face me. You will never be ready to face me. You are _feeble_. Your pathetic attachments to a life that could never be yours—"

Kylo's sabre swirls, then, arcing around and ready to launch. "Love does not make me weak."

"It is not love, boy."

"It is love. Love makes me strong, like my grandfather before me. I will kill you, and I will save my family." I will save me.

He launches himself forwards, then, but the Snoke he tries to kill is suddenly not there. He tumbles through the air and almost lands on his face.

Behind him, the voice.

"Your training is incomplete, the Light in you holds you back."

"The Light in me makes me _strong_ ," Kylo snarls, and shoves at the apparition. It vanishes, only to reappear again. "Those I love ground me. They remind me of the good. They remind me of the _truth_."

"They do not love who you really are, Kylo Ren. They love the mask you wear in front of them: son, nephew, lover. But they fear the Dark in you. They can never know who you are inside."

It hurts to hear it, and Kylo's chest… aches. He can see them, now. See his father shaking his head and walking away. See his mother not recognising who he is. See Poe, standing in a puddle of blood, horrified by the offerings of death he has to give to him. He cries out in pain, and claws at his skull – his mask – once more.

"You are a monster, born of blood, born of evil and every wicked thing. You can lie to yourself that you love, but you do not. You seek approval from a father who knows you no more, a mother who gave you up, a lover whom you force into your arms…"

"No!"

"Do you truly think he loves you? The minute you let him out of your sight, let him out of your control, he would shoot you all over again. He saw the beast in you on Jakku, and this pathetic fantasy of yours is nothing more than a fever-dream. He could never love you."

Kylo SCREAMS at the top of his lungs and leaps the distance to the other, sabre out and death on his mind. He pushes it in, over and over, but he's holding an empty cloak and stabbing at nothing more than air. "Poe loves me. He loves me, and I love him."

"He has no will of his own. You've robbed it from him. Do you really think anyone could enjoy your touch, Kylo Ren? Do you really think—"

The blade goes messier as he loses all sense of form, of control. Terror and anger and fear and grief, a grief for a hope left in shattered pieces. No way would Poe Dameron ever really love him. No way could he have it in his heart to forgive the things he's done. No one in the galaxy could ever…

No. Kylo's eyes close and he drops to his knees, and flicks the blade off. No. He won't listen to the voice in here, won't let it distort the world under its lens. He breathes, and breathes, and turns the sabre back on. Held before his eyes, he brings it in closer to the mask. Metal gets hot, and his face feels like the surface of a star. He lets the pain white out everything else, until all he is is agony entire, and then—

A splash of water at his face, cold and unexpected. A memory, something real. His eyes slit to one side and he sees Poe, full of life and mischief. Sees him smiling and scrubbing the sweat of the night before from his skin. Warm eyes, warmer heart, and a willingness to make things work.

Kylo leaps back up and flips in midair, sabre crashing down and meeting another, red. His body fights to push the other down, but it isn't Snoke. It isn't Snoke he's fighting… it's Darth Vader.

"You do not understand the Dark Side," his grandfather tells him. A voice he's never really heard, but he knows it. He's begged this spirit to come to him, to save him, to teach him and to guide him for as long as he can remember. He's begged him to tell him the answer, tell him how you cope when half your heart is Dark and the other half is Light. Screamed and pleaded and whispered and wanted.

"You never showed me!" he snarls, and pushes back and away. He needs space, needs to regroup, needs to… needs to…

"You child. You put your blame at everyone's feet but your own."

"I _was_ a child!" Kylo yells back at the spectre, angry and hurt and alone. "I was a _child_. I tried all I could to make it stop! I begged you to help me!"

"You will never learn. You will always refuse to accept that—"

Kylo doesn't let him finish, rushing him with a fury born of decades of abuse. He lashes out with sharp, fierce form and his blade and his passion are one. "I. AM. NOW."

Darth Vader parries and blocks, but Kylo's not going to give his vision any quarter. He kicks low with his boot and swings wide across the stomach, almost eviscerating him. The energy is controlled, though, leaving no room for counter-attack, every action an economic and efficient – if brutal – assault.

The taller man can do nothing but block, and there's no words, not now. Kylo has had enough. He's had enough of people deciding his fate, and he's had enough of trying to deny one side or the other of himself. He's both, and he's strong, and he doesn't need Snoke – or Darth Vader – to show him what the **Dark** can do.

" _This is my power_ ," he snarls, and hot, white light erupts from his left hand. He hurls the bolts at his grandfather, and the agony rippling up from him is like the waves in the world over hot sand. " _And I use it as **I** decide._ "

A terrible sense of purpose, but no craving to further the bloodshed. No longing for death for the sake of death. A certainty of the glorious power of Life and a yearning to keep going, to keep everything going, to make the world as thrumming and vibrant and loud and full as possible, and he slashes at the tall figure: from one shoulder to the opposite hip.

Darth Vader drops before him, the mask falling from his shoulders. Kylo's afraid, but also… not. He stares at the eyes before him, and he knows it's Anakin. Anakin, not Vader. He knows, and he flicks off his blade.

"Find the girl."

And everything goes white.

***

Poe wakes up with a shout of alarm, sitting bolt-upright all at once.

He gasps, like he's been running, mind absolutely racing with what's just happened. He's on the floor of the dark chamber inside the Sith temple – though it is not quite so dark as it was before – and he's shaking all over, the memories stubbornly refusing to fade.

Up ahead of them, on the back wall, a series of large, angular words glow red and then vanish. Poe still can't read them, but he knows enough now to be sure of what they say.

_Through victory, my chains are broken._

But how has _any_ of this been victorious? The things he experienced – the very real memory of the night his mother died, and the very much unreal future that he can't even _begin_ to process – weren't victories at all. They weren't victories, and they weren't liberating. And the other things he saw – caught, helpless, drifting – the things that happened to Kylo… those are so mind-whitingly awful that, for a moment, he can't _breathe_.

All of it was nightmares. Some of it was real.

He turns to the side, and Kylo is there, flat on his back. For a second, Poe can't fight the memory out of his head: _the other man standing over him, triumphant, telling him it was all a lie…_

No. No, no, no. _That_ was the lie. _This_ is reality.

Poe slides in close beside his lover. "Kylo? Kylo…"

Kylo's eyes are wide and hurting when his head turns to Poe, like a man lost out in the vastness of beyond. Pushed off from a craft and left to the vacuum, alone and cold and… he grabs at Poe's shirt (his own, borrowed, the last one ripped to pieces). 

"Tell me it wasn't-- tell me…" His voice sounds shattered, and the horror of the dream's future, on the tails of a very real past… "Poe. I'm sorry. I should never have gone into your mind. I'm sorry." His fingers are shaking, all the blood drained from his face.

Is what he does to Poe… like what Snoke did to him? 

Poe wraps both arms around Kylo and pulls him in tight. "Don't you ever apologise. I wanted you to. I _want_ you to. Don't you dare let that _monster_ sully what we have. What _we_ want."

The memories are still swimming about in his head, the past and the future, the real and the imagined, and all of them trail pain in their wake. It's exhausting.

Arms and legs and Kylo isn't sure where he ends and where Poe begins, and the answer has to be somewhere, but he's too busy trying to seek and give comfort at once that such minor things are beyond reason.

He holds him, as tight as he can. "I would never… I would never use you like that. I swear, Poe. I swear. I would never make you cruel. I would never lie to you. I promise. I wouldn't, I wouldn't." 

Even the barest possibility that he might do it has him shaken to his core, and he knows it's not even Light that finds the idea abhorrent, it's _him_. He would never take away Poe's will like Snoke tried – and – and – _did_ with him. He couldn't. Wouldn't. Not ever. Not… knowingly. His hands are shaking with the memory of it, the evil crawling around in his skull, choking down whatever cried out for the Light in him. 

"Poe, I'm sorry," he says, again. "I'm not Snoke. I'm not Snoke, but if I ever – if I--" No. It's just too much to process. He presses his forehead to his lover's, and clutches him so hard his fingers ache. 

"It's all right, it's all right," Poe says, over and over, still clinging onto the other man like his life depends on it. Like both their lives depend on it. "I know you wouldn't, I know. Kylo, Kylo, look at me…"

He strokes his hands over his lover's face, again and again, staring at him with open, frightened, but honest eyes. "I know you wouldn't. It was a nightmare. A lie. An illusion. It wasn't real. It wasn't you."

It helps to remind himself of the same. He doesn't doubt it one bit, but the knowledge is soothing nonetheless. Something has to be right now.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you… had to see what I did." Who I was. What a monster I was. Kylo doesn't add these things, but he assumed they are understood in their absence. "But it's… it's… okay, now, isn't it? It's… it's okay?"

He thinks it can be, if only he doesn't become that monster Poe saw, if only it isn't a future echo, a prophecy, a fate they can't avoid. "I don't want to rule the galaxy. I just want to be me. Be me, and love you." It's a simple desire. It's not even a humble one, considering 'me' is apparently a Sith without a world domination kink. "We… you… we can do this, can't we?" 

He hopes they can. He remembers the end of the nightmares, when the Dark coursed through him, bent to _his_ will, not the other way around. That… can still happen, can't it? 

"Of _course_ we can still do this," Poe insists. "And as for what I saw… some of it I already knew – or suspected – and the rest… the rest just makes me want to _save you_ even more than I did before."

More than that. The things he saw in there… the things Snoke did to Kylo… they make Poe's blood burn in a way he's not at all used to. Make him _need_ to keep doing this, to destroy the man who hurt Kylo so badly. He often feels defensive of the people he cares about, yes, but this…

…This is something more. Something stronger. The intensity of it scares him a little, though that doesn't diminish the feeling itself.

"I'm sorry you saw that, too," Kylo says, eyes sliding away as he slowly calms. Slowly. Heart still hammering in his chest. "I tried so hard to push him out of my head, but I couldn't. I…" 

A jagged, shuddery breath. "He… broke… me. Ben. He broke Ben. So I put him in a box, and I tried to keep it closed. But it doesn't… it doesn't excuse the things I did in his name. It doesn't excuse the fact that I wasn't strong enough to do what I _knew_ was right. I just…"

The younger man swallows, audibly. "I didn't know what else I _could_ do. Not until… I found you." 

Poe takes a breath, and climbs up on top of Kylo, straddling his hips, curling over him. Not trying to push for anything and certainly not trying to assert himself. Just wanting to be comforting. To be _protecting_.

"You have me now," he says, trying to make his voice as soft and as sure as possible. "You have me. And I will not – _**will not**_ – give up on you. You won't have to be alone again, Kylo. Not ever. Not _ever_ , do you hear me?"

"Even if I--" Even if I fall? "When we leave, he will be able to… he might… he might be too strong for me." It's Kylo's deepest fear, the loss of himself, the… loss of his own will, his own mind. "I can't go back to being his puppet, Poe. You have to lock me up, or throw me back here, or kill me. Please don't let him break me again." 

He knows it's an impossible ask, or… should be. Leia Organa, Han Solo, Chewbacca and Luke Skywalker couldn't keep him safe. But Poe… maybe Poe can? 

In the dream, the nightmare, just the memory of his lover gave him strength. He hopes that will be true, hopes… hopes he'll manage to stave off the next assault for his soul. 

"I won't let him take you," Poe says. "I won't let him break you. And we will _end_ him. You and me. We will end him once and for all and then you will be free _forever_."

He puts both hands on Kylo's face, resting their foreheads together. "And as for Snoke… he _was_ too strong for you. He isn't now. Do you realise how powerful you've become in the last few days? You've passed tests meant for high-level Sith, and you've done it whilst keeping me alive at the same time."

Kylo takes the comfort offered, not feeling weak for needing it, not now. Even his grandfather needed love, so why should he be any different? He puts his hands around Poe's waist, just… needing the closeness. Needing his lover to ground him. Cold water, splashed freely over his face. 

"I still don't think I would have passed them without you _here_ ," he replies, though… Poe's right. It has been hard, and harder still in some respects to keep Poe going. Mostly through the previous chamber, but… even so. 

"We're going to do this, aren't we?" Brown, hopeful eyes look up and full of wonder. "You and me. We're going to do this. We're going… we're going to make them proud of us." He bites his lip, then… "But more than that, we'll do it because _we_ need to." His hands move up and over his lover's sides, over his neck, into his hair. 

"Yes," Poe answers, arching into the touches, loving them. "We are going to do this. It won't be easy, but we _will_ find a way. We'll show them all. And then… then the people who matter will see who you really are."

He presses in closer, laying gentle kisses on Kylo's lips. "Although… they won't see _all_ of it. Some of it is just for me…"

Kylo moans, almost not-there. Soft, soft and broken and so very, very much in love. So much in love that his whole chest aches, and so very much in love that he knows, all the way in his core, that Snoke could offer him the entire galaxy, throw every other being alive at his feet as a prisoner… and he'd deny it all. Refuse it all. Reject everything, if it meant he got to keep Poe.

He flips them, of a sudden, grabbing his face and kissing him with a rising, terrible need. Straddling his hips, and biting at his lips. "Only you," he promises, around a kiss so hard it makes his mouth tingle. "Only you, only ever you. My Dark, my Light… all of it belongs to you, Poe. You may belong to me, but I am yours to command."

He says it, even as he's pinning him to the floor with everything _but_ submission in his demeanour. That doesn't matter. It's still true. 

"Only you," Poe echoes. He curls up around the other man, not fighting, not resisting, but not simply surrendering at the first push. Hands go to hold on, to hold _tight_ , and he kisses back as firmly as he can. "I am yours, forever. I mean it."

Tighter. Firmer. Reminding the other man that, whilst he might enjoy giving in, there's still strength in him. Still _resistance_. Reminding them both that that dark other-future will never happen.

…It was his nightmare, though. Wasn't it? A fear deep inside of him, that all of this could be a trick. A lie. _But it isn't._

"I trust you," he adds. For them both. "Completely. Utterly. I would never have knelt for you if I didn't. So… remember that. I want this. I want _you_."

Kylo's forehead brushes against Poe's, an echo of that moment that follows every time he does the gesture, a leitmotif, a hidden song only they can hear. "I want to take you back to the pod, Poe. I want to make you kneel for me again. I want to re-sign all our contracts and promises. Now, and forever." His lips move to kiss just below his hairline, breath hot on his skin. "Now is the point where you say: 'yes, Master'." 

And Poe Dameron grins. " _Yes, Master_."

Which promptly gets him scooped up into strong, sure arms and carried squarely out of the dark, into the glittering sunlight beyond.

The irony of this is not lost on either of them.


	19. Broken Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, people. We are _extremely_ excited to share this one with you!
> 
> Some more thoughts at the end. First though, you might want to read on... ;-)

The sun is indeed still shining when they get outside. They've obviously been trapped in the test for quite some time – perhaps longer than it felt when they were in it – but darkness is a way off setting in.

BB-8 spots them approaching, whirring and bleeping a little, before promptly realising what's going on and disappearing off with a faux-resigned sort of sound. It is not, however, watching from behind a distant rock. (Not much, anyway.)

Poe keeps his arms around Kylo, heart thrumming with anticipation. And… with hope.

Kylo snorts at the droid, glad he doesn't have to spell things out for him, and keeps Poe scooped up tight to his chest. Poe is perfectly capable of walking back, but Kylo is also perfectly capable of carrying him, and he very much wants to not take his hands off his beloved for the foreseeable forever. 

The Sith Lord noses affectionately at Poe's cheek, quiet little promises of adoration as he takes him back to their love nest. He drops to one knee, and lowers Poe to the bed they left behind earlier that morning.

He puts a hand behind his head, holding him in place for one last, lingering press before he drops his weight down to rest his ass on his own calves. 

Kylo doesn't speak. Not immediately. He wants to see what Poe will do unbidden, first. 

Poe considers just lying where he is, waiting to see what the other man wants, but… no. No. It needs to be more than that right now, doesn't it? Slowly, he rises up onto his knees, head bowed, eyes down. He's absolutely _thrumming_ with need, but it's different this time. It isn't just the need to be _taken_. Nor is it simply the need to surrender. Right now… he needs to show Kylo how much he trusts him. How much he wants this.

He needs, needs, _needs_ to prove the nightmare was just that. Just a nightmare. Not something he believes would ever truly happen.

Kylo tilts his hands, offering his palms upwards, and places them on Poe's knees, waiting for him to place his own on top of them. He's not sure why, but it's important. It's all important. He watches the other's face, his body-language, and… it just means something. Something maybe only they could understand, but that's all that matters.

"Poe." Just his name, but Kylo can make it sound like the single happiest word in the Basic tongue. Just his name, but it's a question, an answer, a promise, a weapon. 

The pilot lifts his head, meeting the other's eyes for a moment. He takes the hint, raising his hands and laying them on Kylo's, warm skin against warm skin.

"Yours," he whispers. "Tell me what you want. Anything."

"Just you," Kylo answers, the smile on his lips shy, but real. His fingers rest against Poe's wrists, against the pulse-points. Vibrant and alive and so very, very beautiful. His thumbs curl up and over, stroking at the backs of his lover's hands. 

He leans forwards, a whisper of their foreheads pressed together, and then he tilts his head to kiss the corner of his mouth. Violence and passion can wait for a moment, wait until he's made sure Poe knows it's more than just that. It will always be more than just that. It will be everything in the universe, if Kylo gets his way. He kisses a slow line to the centre of his lips, and requests access with a flick of his tongue. 

Poe parts his lips and lets the other man in, lets Kylo kiss him as deeply as he wants. He knows he's supposed to be behaving, but the _need_ inside him is burning like a sun, and he can't quite stamp it down. So he lifts his hands, sliding them around his lover, holding onto him. Holding and holding, grip tightening in response to the kisses, and in response to the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I need you," he whispers, as the kiss breaks. The barest tremor in his voice, the emotion roiling up from deep inside. "I need to show you how much I trust you."

"All right," Kylo answers, his own hands moving to echo Poe's, to hold him close and mirror his grip. "Anything, Poe. I promise you, with all that I am, with all that I can be, that I will never abuse you. I will make myself worthy of your trust. I will _take care_ of you." 

He puts one finger against Poe's chest, right above the heart. Eyes on him, never leaving him. "Lie down. Lie back. Show me your surrender, Poe. Let me take what you offer, and show you how right it is to give it to me." 

Poe pushes in to kiss him one last time, just quickly. He knows it's impulsive, and it probably doesn't fit with the whole _surrendering_ part, but the feeling inside him is just too much to ignore altogether. And he certainly doesn't mean anything _bad_ by it.

As soon as he pulls back, though, he does as he's told. Told? Asked? He isn't entirely sure right now. But, either way, he does it, lying back, open and offering and… an urge takes him, and he puts his hands up above his head, fingers curling lightly into his palms. He meets Kylo's eyes, his own as honest and wanting as he can make them, and he waits to see what the other man will do.

He doesn't even know what he wants more, right now: fury and force, or gentle touches. Or… something in between.

Kylo smiles at him, the kind of smile that means it feels good, but it hurts. Like a commingling of Light and Dark, just as they are. He wouldn't trade this moment for anything, save more of the same. "I love you," he tells him, and the first wave of mental pressure hits.

The Sith is careful with the touch, a thrust that's insistent, but not cruel. He doesn't have to inflict pain if he doesn't want to, and it's just to prove that he can do it. In, and then back out again. He grabs the edge of Poe's shirt, and pushes it up and over his lover's head, tangling behind his neck and keeping his arms gently in place. He lowers his head to kiss softly at his bared collarbones – tiny little soft kisses – and pushes into his head again; fucking into his mind slowly, as if opening his body up ready for the main event. 

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps, almost in rapture, at the kisses, at the touches, and _at the other man pushing into his head like that…_

Some flicker in his instincts still tries to tell him that he shouldn't want it, that he shouldn't invite it, but he stamps that thought down, ignoring it, resisting it. _This_ is surrender, and trust, and acceptance and wanting. It is everything sex should be: baring yourself open to another person, letting them all the way in. Most people can only truly do it physically, but with Kylo… Poe can give him _everything_. The physical and the mental. Both at once.

"Please," he whispers, the thrumming in his heart and the low, dull ache at his core starting to fade. "Don't stop. Go deep. I need you to." _I trust you to._

"I'm going to," Kylo tells him, "…but at my own speed. Trust me, Poe. Trust me to do this for you." He scrapes his teeth into the jut of bone below his neck, and then bites gently as his lips wrap around the skin and start to suckle, firmly. He knows Poe enjoys physical pain, and he's going to give it to him, without causing him any lasting injury. Just love-letters written in blurs of blood below the surface, just the dull aches he'll have tomorrow and the day after and the day after.

His mind slides across Poe's, tugging thoughts higher to the surface, thoughts that resonate the most. He smiles at the sensation of flying he gets; a rudder, a flip in the stomach, a flash of horizon. He replies in kind by watching Poe fly, and admiring his skills. The brush goes on longer, and then pulls out.

_Oh, but that's…_ Poe's eyes go hazy at the feeling of the other man filtering through flickers of memory like that. Kylo's been through the recollections in his head before, but not quite like this, and it's… 'intimate' is not an adequate word for what it is. It is just the closest word that exists in Basic.

He won't move his hands, now, even though he hasn't actually been told whether or not he can, so all he can really do is lie here and _feel_ , trying to flip good thoughts to the surface, so Kylo can pick up on them immediately. Offering them to him, almost.

"I'm yours," he murmurs, without even thinking, but so full of meaning. "All yours. I love you."

"I love you, too," Kylo replies, his voice just as full of emotion. He dips to kiss his way down his chest, hands finding his hips, kneeling between his parted thighs. He flickers his tongue out against one nipple, alternating soft touches with sharp bites and sharper sucking. Never leaving one sensation there too long, bouncing him like a stone skipping over the surface of a lake.

The next time he slips in, he makes it feel heavier. Makes Poe's head lift towards him, and peers at the images offered in more detail. He sees Poe with his squadron, laughing and joking and leaning back on the wings of their ships. Hears tales they tell about everything and nothing, and sees when Poe's head turns.

In the distance, it's his mother. Kylo's mother. Poe looks to her with respect and a little longing, a little pain at a gap where someone once was in his heart. General Leia Organa doesn't deviate from her path, and Poe's focus slips back as Kylo withdraws.

"She will love you," he tells him. "I know she will love you. She will respect your dignity, your decency, your dedication and your heart, Poe. You will be more her son than I am… and that's okay." 

That… comes out of nowhere, and for a moment Poe is a little stunned by it. His eyes find Kylo's again, the focus in them sharper but not from any kind of objection. Sadness, perhaps. Or… no. The things that come _after_ sadness.

"I would never seek to supplant you," he insists. "I would stand at your side, if you'll have me, but I would never presume…"

"It is okay," Kylo answers. "You are the soldier, the pilot. Son of the Rebellion, son of the skies. My mother chose the life of politics, and my father the one of a pilot. You are more like them than I am. I am more like… my uncle, and my grandfather." 

Strangely, he doesn't sound in the slightest hurt. "They can love you as well as me, you know." 

But he'd rather they didn't dwell too long on his relatives right now, and so he moves to unfasten fabric, to continue unwrapping his lover. As he does so, he slips back in and deeper. Deeper, into a longing he felt, threaded around some whisp of memory. A knot of something confusing and confused.

Harder. He needs to make Poe focus, needs to get him to coalesce the memory he's not letting show. "Tell me… _show_ me… when you suspected you needed something that others couldn't give you, Poe. Show me why you know you need me inside your head. Show me why you have to _submit_." 

Those words are harder to hear, and for the barest second, Poe resists them. Not because he doesn't want Kylo to know the truth, as such, but because… because, on some level, some of it is still hard to admit. Some of it still feels as though it should be _wrong_ , even though he knows that it isn't. It is not wrong to want, when the person you are with feels the same. It is not wrong to see things differently to how the majority does.

It is not wrong.

Flickers of memory rise up in Poe's head. _One night on D'Qar, at the base, stumbling back to the barracks in the dark, knowing he's going to have to break things off with his current boyfriend because **something isn't right** and he can't work out why. A longing at his core, something missing, something he can't find wherever he looks, something he covers over with flight and smiles and duty and loyalty._

_Something he can't explain. And then… then another flicker. Jakku. A figure in the dark. A figure who sends this strange spiral of heat deep inside Poe Dameron, which makes no sense in the middle of combat. A figure whose name he knows, whose reputation is all too clear, a man he should hate. A man who should **fucking pay attention to him when he's…**_

_The electric, impossible whine of a blaster-bolt caught in midair. Too terrifyingly impressive for words. Stormtroopers dragging him across the dark sand, throwing him down at Kylo Ren's feet, and this **jolt** deep inside him, like the spiral of heat has found its destination. Like it's found the thing that's been missing all this time._

_His mind pushing back. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. This is as wrong as it gets and he should never, ever…_

_More. The interrogation room on the_ Finalizer _. The feeling of helplessness, of fear, as Kylo Ren pushes into his head for the first time. And… that sensation, again, deep down, undeniable. Like pieces of a very old puzzle just slotting into place, laying the truth of their hidden meaning bare. He knows he'll break. Knows you can't resist someone skilled with the Force. You **can't**. But he still tries, not out of simple defiance, but out of some strange **need** to make the other man push back._

_Then… this planet. The forest thick with heat. Lurid colours that push against his eyes, as though everything is out to hurt him – hurt them – and yet the only thing he really notices is the man with him. So distracted that he doesn't even notice the creature stalking them. So **caught** , despite the fact he's freer than he has been in days._

_And, at last, those words. **"Kneel for me, Dameron."** The moment when he realised the missing piece of the puzzle had been staring at him the whole time. The gap, the longing, right at his core, made whole in a second with just four words._

_Realisation. Understanding. Sometimes, when the moment comes… you just know._

Kylo drinks all the images in, a tiny flicker of jealousy for a lover who had their hands on his beloved before he knew he existed. Pointless jealousy, but jealousy all the same. He sort of, on some level, is glad Poe had some measure of happiness before him, but… also not. Love can be cruel, and selfish, and hungry as easily as it can be loving, giving, self-sacrificing. Both sides of one interminably complex longing. 

He sees himself through Poe's eyes, sees him understand their Force-bond without knowing what he can feel. How confusing it must have been for him, to be pulled by a soulmate without the means to understand how, or why. He rakes through each offering, sliding them through mental fingers and pulling them close to himself to save, to keep. 

Poe sees things he doesn't. Didn't. 

Or… did. Kylo bends to press soft lips against Poe's and then pushes all the way into his mind. He blasts through his skull the thoughts, the memories and feelings of his own.

_Jakku. Hot, frustrating sand. A colony of Force-worshipping heretics. A map he knows he needs, a man he used to know. A name he wants to say, wants to call Kylo Ren in place of the true one, and an anger that…_

_It isn't the map he's here for. He doesn't understand, but the Force brought him here. He thinks it's to find his old Master, to kill him. He came to the planet because he knew he had to, but it isn't…_

_Something tells him Lor San Tekka is not what he needs, and he cleaves through him as unimportant, as peripheral, as… other. A man with the wrong name on his tongue, and an arcing power in him that looks to find a grounding point. A flash of not-death and his head whips around and he sees someone who shouldn't be there. Someone who should have run, and he doesn't understand. The Resistance trains her children well, for the most part. Better than the First Order ever could. They might enjoy the role of underdog, but they're good at running when they need to, and scrapping up against the Higher Power when they **need** to._

_A look of awe that kindles something at his show of Force, a bolt held motionless through sheer effort of will. Held in place far longer than is needful, but as long as is necessary. The slack-jawed expression, the sudden fire and the challenge that makes his blood **hungry** , that tells him this is what he needs. This will get him what he needs._

_Put into the chair, and Kylo already knows he has to see him. Has to see deeper into him. Has to make him submit. The deep, dark thrill of the fight, the chase, and the surrender, but not entire. The sound of screaming that makes him **burn all over again** , and the sense of complete and utter betrayal and loss when the **traitor** steals him away._

_The Supreme Leader wants the map. Kylo Ren wants the Pilot._

_The way everything he does is wrong. How every little flare of frustration makes him more alive, more radiant, more compelling and more **the worst Human to ever live** and makes Kylo want to slam into his head all over again just to **make him scream some more and submit to him, submit to him in ways Kylo never has. To surrender the way Kylo Ren refused to, splitting himself in two before he ever would break. The way his shattering will be beautiful and needful and necessary all at once, The way he wants to slam his whole self into him and**_ …

Kylo slips two fingers made wholly of his mind into Poe, makes his body open up to the intrusion, makes him take even the pain as pleasure. Over and over and wider and fiercer, he fucks into his body as he fucks into his mind. He has Poe entirely in his control, and he knows the other won't even want to escape.

**_I love you. I love you. You're mine. Pleasure and pain and defiance and submission and Light and Dark. You're mine, only mine, and without you I am incomplete. Let me hurt you, let me please you, let me own you, let me save you._ **

The rush of thought and memory and _feeling_ that surges into Poe's mind is overwhelming. Completely, gloriously overwhelming. Kylo isn't trying to hurt him, but somehow the presence in his mind is more forceful and more intense than when he does.

" _Oh_ ," Poe gasps, the word raptured and breathless. "Yes… yes… please…"

And it's strangely terrifying – terrifying and wonderful – to realise that Kylo was drawn to Poe just as early as Poe was drawn to Kylo. He's wondered all this time when it happened, when the other man decided he wanted this, and – though neither of them truly engaged with what it meant until the same point, out in the jungle – he never realised it started so soon.

And now they're here, wrapped in the joy and ecstasy that always accompanies their lovemaking, and… and, on some level, Poe still can't get one thought out of his head. A thought he's been keeping pushed aside since the last test. Since the dark place.

They saw their nightmares. Past and future. The pain that was, and the pain that could be. Only… Kylo turned his to victory. Poe remembers it. Remembers the shadow of Snoke becoming Vader, becoming Anakin Skywalker. _'Through victory, my chains are broken.'_ And, in that moment, some part of Kylo broke free. Poe knows it.

So… why didn't he do the same? Why did his nightmare run on to the end? What, precisely, is he scared of? That he'll fall? That Kylo might be manipulating him?

No.

He's scared that, if that was true, some small part of him would still want it.

The fear thrills up inside his chest, inside his mind, and he gasps again, but sharper this time, almost as though he's been hit. He tries to stamp down on the feelings, as if somehow he could prevent Kylo from picking up on them, but he knows it's too late.

Even without the Force, it's all there in his eyes.

Kylo can tell, of course. He can tell. He knows the fear, because it's something he's felt first-hand, for almost all of his life. Another hand inside of him, moving his limbs to do something he wouldn't want. A knowledge of his own agency robbed from him, of being bent the wrong way, of being folded along lines that aren't really there.

He keeps the pressure up, and he pulls away from the kiss, to look sadly down at him. "I can show you, if you want," he offers. "I can show you how you would feel if I did to you as Snoke did to me. It will hurt, but you will know how to tell the difference. Do you want me to?" 

There's nothing but worry and compassion on Kylo's face, and it's clear he would very much never like to delve to such hideous things, but he suspects Poe needs to realise the difference between submission and… _violation_. Rape, to be brutal and honest. 

Poe does not want to say yes. Not because he doesn't want to know – because he _does_ want to know – but because he doesn't want to push Kylo into doing that to him. He's seen, now, some flickers of what the other man went through as a child. What Snoke did to him. It's abhorrent and wrong and it makes Poe hate Snoke with a fire and a fury he's never felt for any living being before. Even all the horrors of the First Order combined couldn't quite match it, and if the feeling wasn't focused by love, he'd be scared of it.

He can't say yes. He can't turn Kylo into that. Not even to help him. He can't. He…

_A flash of memory. The dream. The **nightmare**. The memory of being on his knees, thinking he'd won the day, thinking he'd done all his lover could ask of him… and the moment when he realised it was all a lie. Knowing he was beaten. Trapped. Caught. Knowing he really had sent the whole galaxy to hell, and now he'd have to watch it burn. Knowing that he'd been broken, and that he'd **be** broken, over and over, powerless to stop it. Nothing could be more wrong than that._

Another stab of arousal shoots through him at the thought, brighter this time, insistent and demanding and betraying him. His own needs twisted into something dark and terrible.

There has to be something that's too much.

He needs to know.

"…Yes…" he chokes out, heart and soul full of guilt for asking. Anything else the other man chooses to give him – or not give him – he revels in, but this? This is something different.

"You must know I would never do this to you. Not truly." Kylo needs him to understand that, needs him to know that – having lived through decades of psychic torture – it's something he finds so abhorrent to his core that it would have him denounce the Force completely rather than do it in all honesty. "You must know this is the Darkest thing one person can do to another. You… need to understand that… I would sooner kill myself than ever, ever do this. To anyone alive, and least of all to you."

He has to say it, because it's important. Because it's true. Because he would slide his lightsabre through his own heart before he did it for real, did what Poe dreamt of. 

"And when it's over, you'll hate me. For a short time, anyway. You'll hate me. You won't want me to touch you. You'll be disgusted at the thought of me." 

Kylo's nightmare. A Poe who saw too much, too Dark, too evil, and who could never forgive him. But this is a choice, a… demonstration. A safety-net. A terrible example, and not an actual transgression. 

The coiling heat in Poe's body pulls back, leaving him bereft of the touch. He doesn't want him to associate sexual pleasure with what he's going to do, doesn't want to stain their lovemaking with horror. Kylo swallows hard.

He knows how to do this. That's the worrying thing. He knows, because he's had it done so often that…

Kylo doesn't do this slowly. If he really wanted to break him – break him forever – it would be more involved. It would start off small and chip away at his heart, would coil around his Light and choke him off from everything he holds dear. Make him doubt himself, make him doubt the difference between right and wrong. Instead, he takes the brute force route. It will show him how he'd feel, if Kylo ever were to make him do something he never would. The image in his mind is as clear as if it were a memory, as if it were a vision plucked from his mind, or a window forwards in time. 

_Poe is back in the Resistance base. A staged escape, quick and painless. He lands a craft, and he walks out and greets his squadron. They smile and laugh and hug him and pull him along to see the General and give her news of the map. Of her brother._

_They stand in a room that Kylo creates, one that isn't real but looks like it could be. It's patched together from memories he's found, and memories he owns, and the edges of it look faint from the shoddy workmanship. Poe doesn't notice this, though. Poe just sees General Organa, smiling at him. Telling him how brave he is, how he's saved everyone. Telling him he's a hero, that his name will go down in the annals. Telling him that he's the only one who ever resisted the son she no longer calls her own._

_Poe smiles a smile that doesn't touch his eyes and reaches for the map. Only… it isn't the map he goes for. It's the blaster on his hip. He pulls it, and he shoots her: right in the head. Red blood blossoms from her skull, and there's screaming. Somehow he manages to gun down three of his squadron before they surround him, and that's when – in the dream – Kylo lets go of his mind and allows Poe to run through the scenario to its logical conclusion._

_The horror hits like a tidal wave, so intense and overwhelming that Poe doesn't know what to do with it. He can see what he's done – what he **wanted** to do – and he can't tell what's worse: the knowledge, or the fact that all he can do now is react._

_Survival instinct is a terrible, terrible thing, and it burns through him. He shakes off the hands trying to seize him and starts to run, vaulting the central control table whilst everyone is still reeling from what's happened. Someone comes at him from the side – someone in orange; he doesn't dare look to see who – and he just fires without really thinking about it, desperate to get out, to flee, to escape from this place._

_A shout and a cry cut the air, and he can't shake the feeling that he's just murdered his best friend._

_People are clearing out of his way, now, scrambling for cover. They know he's a good shot, even outside of an X-Wing. They know he's one of the best. They're scared and they're horrified by what he's done, but they could never be as horrified as he is. He runs until the cool air of D'Qar hits his face, but it isn't enough to shake him free of this hell._

_More troops come running. Ground fighters and pilots alike. His friends. His allies._

_His enemies, now. They'll never take him back, after what he's done. And he wouldn't want them to._

_"Stand down!" someone shouts. "Stand down!"_

_He can't. He can't live with this. What has he done? **What has he done?**_

_There's too many of them now. He won't get away. Won't get to a ship in time. He raises his weapon, opening fire. Not even concentrating on where he aims._

_They fire back. He feels the blaster bolts slam into him, feels the pain, feels the endless kiss of the blackness that he **deserves** …_

Poe's mind jolts back to the here and now, heart beating so hard it hurts, gasping like he's just run a mile at full sprint. He can't move, and there are tears in his eyes, and the anguish is so intense that he almost wants to pass out.

"No more," he pleads, brokenly. "No more. No more."

"It isn't real," Kylo whispers, and puts two hands on his face, the touch very, very soft. He's completely out of Poe's head, now, just his voice and the physical contact there to ground him. "It isn't real. You haven't hurt anyone. You're here, with me. You're safe. Everyone is safe. You didn't want to do it. You _don't_ want to do it. You **won't ever** do it. It's not real. Listen to my voice, listen to my voice and know you were dreaming. You're awake, now. You're awake and you know how to tell what is you, and what isn't you. You know, because you know who you are. You know who you are, and you aren't what I made you think and feel." 

Poe somehow manages to slip his arms free of the half-removed shirt they're tangled in, allowing him to reach up and throw those arms around Kylo, holding on for dear life. Desperately seeking some semblance of comfort, when all the world feels cold and empty and grey.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, not entirely sure what he's apologising for. Perhaps for what he still feels like he did. Perhaps for making Kylo put him through it in the first place. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Kylo reassures him, and he moves them around with care. He moves, so Poe is lying on top of him, and his arms and legs wrap around him like an aquatic, many-limbed creature. There's a lot of him to go around his short pilot, and he makes use of that. "It's okay. It's just like nightmares you have as a child. You don't know you're in them for sure until you wake up, but when you wake up you know. You know, and it's okay. Dreams fade when the Light hits you."

Kylo isn't even sure if anything he's saying makes sense or makes any difference, he's just trying his best to talk Poe through the trauma. He doesn't really know if you can turn the pain off, not really. No one ever managed with him, but then the pain didn't stop for him, either. It was a constant barrage and there was never any real respite, never any time when he could think for himself without the fingers in his skull.

"You're here. BB-8 is here. I'm here. It's just us. You can cry, because it hurts. It's okay to cry. It's okay to hurt. But when you stop crying, the good things will still be here. I'll still be here. BB-8 will still be here. All your friends are still okay. Things that aren't real can't hurt you forever. The real things will take up too much space." 

Poe Dameron does not cry. He will laugh, shout, argue, scream. Anything. The whole gamut. Emotion is like breathing to him, and he's never shy about it, whether it's good or bad or neither or both. But he won't cry. He cried when he was eight years old, and it didn't bring his mother back. It won't bring his fallen comrades back. It won't lift the shadow over the galaxy.

He cries now. It isn't wracked sobbing, nothing like that, but rather the kind of silent tears that speak of a much deeper pain. He holds onto his lover and lets the grief rush through him, the sudden awareness of being completely out of his depth. The fear that the things he wants might undo him. The fear that some of them already have.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again. Definitely apologising to Kylo, now, the nightmare having faded, his mind slowly but surely accepting that it wasn't real. "I should never have asked you to do that. I'm sorry."

"I could always have said no," Kylo points out to him. "You didn't force me to do it. And… maybe I needed to. Needed… to know for certain that what we do – what we _love_ isn't the same as what Snoke does to people. I don't ever want to be him, and I thought, perhaps… I was."

He rubs his cheek against Poe's, letting the tension leak out, letting him experience it. It's… well. He can feel his lover's pain, even without trying. It travels along the bond they have, and Kylo lets it make his own chest hurt, his own eyes sting. He has memories of his own; dark dreams of things he hated, and couldn't ignore. Darker deeds done, all by his own hand, even if someone else plucked at his sinews. Horrors that tore his very insides into shreds he could barely cover over, raw nerves and that half-awareness. That was the worst: watching, as if in a lucid dream. Part of your soul crying out _stop_ , but not loud enough to make a difference. 

It's difficult, but they need to say things, now. Things that are skirted around, things that the temple has dragged out to be witnessed, to be… confessed. To be integrated, or broken free of. "I thought… you… might not love me. Once you knew it all. Once you knew what I had done, what I was capable of. I thought… I thought there would be something even you would not forgive me for. I have done awful things, Poe. I have sinned, and I have broken, and I have fallen. I knew the things were wrong, but I couldn't… stop. I didn't have the power to, and he told me that meant I was _wrong_ inside. Cruel, evil, **wrong**."

For the longest time, Kylo believed him. 

Eyes still streaked with tears, Poe puts a hand on the side of Kylo's face. "I knew the things you've done long before I got into this," he reminds the other man, gently. "There was never any doubt in my mind about that. But… I also knew, deep down, that you aren't that person. Not truly. I don't know precisely _how_ I knew it, but… I did. I _do_. And I knew, more than anything, that I wanted to save you from it. That I wanted to pull you back. Make you see yourself as I was realising I saw you. As _this_ person: repentant and magnificent and wonderful. As the truest mix of Dark and Light."

He strokes through his lover's hair, over and over. "You are not alone anymore. And I am not alone anymore. And… you make everything fall into place inside my mind, and that… _that isn't wrong_ …"

Kylo smiles, even though his eyes are streaming now. He can't hold the pain in forever, can't force the mask over his features indefinitely. He's kept it in place for years and years, but Poe saw right through it. The lines of Force that wove their destinies together, that inched in around the cracks in the webs he was tangled in… He grabs his lover's face, and pushes his forehead to Poe's. He lets himself slide back in again, now, and lets him feel the guilt, the sorrow, the terror, the horror, the nightmare. Lets the last wall of self-preservation down, and then it fades and ebbs and the fear goes, and in its place is certainty. In its place is two men, curled up together, madly in love. Madly flawed, madly Human. Not evil, just people. A steadfast rock and a sky full of thunder that arcs down bolts of energy to meet and ground. A yearning fading to a longing and to a surety and to a connection that pushes the pained emotions aside to make room for the happier ones. 

"The Force made you for me, and me for you," Kylo whispers. "Me to hurt you and love you. You to save me and love me. It isn't wrong. It's perfect, Poe. We need to not be afraid any more. Not just of ourselves, but of each other." 

The feelings are so wonderful, so bright and real, that they stem the pain in Poe's mind. They make everything sharpen, pushing back the doubt and leaving just the truth, ever-present and undeniable.

"You're right," he whispers, not just in acquiescence but because he believes it too. "You're right. We are what we are, and it isn't wrong. It's wonderful. It's… _us_."

Kylo smiles. And laughs. He rarely, if ever, laughs. He kisses him, tears on their lips, and his fingers in his hair and a sense of something greater, something bigger, something beautiful and ethereal and complicated, like lightning Light over dark skies. Like the sudden push into hyperspace when it goes from black to star-streaked lines over the horizon towards an infinity you can't see. He's not sure if he's gone insane, or if he's suddenly gone sane. Both. Both at the same time.

"Wake up," he whispers. "Wake up, and know you're awake." 

_Wake up._

Poe jumps upwards from the cold ground, gasping as if breathing for the first time, shaking and confused and… wait… what? _What?_

They're still inside the temple, in the dark room at the end of the dark path. It… _wait, **what?**_

He sits bolt upright, staring around in alarm, unable to work out what's going on. This already happened. Didn't it? The test ended and they both woke up and went back to the pod, and…

On the back wall, words appear, glowing red before they fade to nothing. And – though he can't read them directly – Poe still knows what they say. Knows and, perhaps, understands this time.

_Through victory, my chains are broken._

But… they weren't before. Were they? Kylo defeated his own nightmare, turning Vader back to Anakin, but Poe…

…Poe was still trapped in his. He'd left the illusion itself behind, but the feelings hadn't faded. Not until…

…Not until Kylo – and he's sure it was really Kylo, not some mental echo of him – came to get Poe out. To get them _both_ out.

He looks to the side, and sees the other man there, lying on his back, and Poe can't scramble across to him fast enough, throwing his arms around his lover and holding on tight.

"Kylo. Kylo. I'm here. Wake up."

Kylo's arms go around Poe before his mind catches up to the reality they're in. His arms will always go around Poe. He will always love him, and always protect him, with everything he has, and all that he is. He smiles, and holds him back as tight as he can.

"I knew you'd wake up," he says, sounding utterly, soul-deep proud. "I knew you'd be strong enough. I'm sorry it took us both so long." He smiles, and rubs his cheek against him, something strange and free in his stomach, in his heart. Butterflies. Fireflies. Something.

"You know you're awake now, don't you?" he asks, and still doesn't let up the tight hug. 

"I hope I am," Poe replies, not letting go either. Not in the slightest. Stunned by the realisation of what's happened, and by the feeling deep in his chest of _liberation_ and certainty. "Did you… did you know we weren't, or..?"

"When you were afraid, I did," Kylo tells him. "When you turned from your nightmare to mine, and there was no end to your fear. I knew, but it was hard for me to _see_. Your reality was very…" A cluck of his tongue to his teeth, "…imposing."

Imposing, but not impossible. Nothing like Snoke's version of reality, which was dark and cloying and nasty. Poe's had been a heart crying out for acceptance, a need for faith and surety. "Not to mention I was still afraid because of it. I was afraid you would… turn from me, when you couldn't accept me in there. But you did. And… and now…" Now their chains are broken. He hugs Poe tighter, a rain of kisses over his face, over his temple. 

Poe wants to apologise for putting him through it, but… maybe they both needed it. He, to admit the fear in his heart, and Kylo, to see that he could soothe it. And both of them, as a reminder that they went into this with open eyes and that any opportunity for deception is long since past.

That this just _is_. And they just _are_. And that's wonderful.

"I love you, you know," he whispers. "For your Dark and your Light. For _you_."

"I love you too," Kylo answers, without the slightest hesitation. More kisses, another tiny, shy little laugh. A laugh of a man who isn't caught in someone else's shadow, but bathed in someone else's glow. He kisses the very tip of Poe's nose, and then blushes all the way from his hairline down to his toes. 

"I love you. I love your resistance, and I love your submission. And your smile. And your heart. And your fears, and your doubts, and everything, Poe. I love all of you." Pause. "Even your damnable droid." 

Poe grins. "The droid is non-negotiable! Besides, you _do_ love him really. And he's gotten quite fond of you, too." He leans in closer, whispering in Kylo's ear. "I know the feeling."

Kylo shudders at the proximity, and pulls Poe's head down onto his chest to kiss at his stupidly beautiful hair. "If you weren't, it would make the part where we're practically impossible to separate somewhat uncomfortable. And… the droid can stay. Just… as long as it remembers to not interfere when we're having… uh. Special times." Sex, Kylo. You've fucked him raw enough times to use the damn word.

"Should we head back? There's a nice, cool pool with our name on it." 

Poe doesn't lift his head when he replies. "Now _that_ is the best idea I've heard all day," he agrees. " _Master_."

It needed to be said. He grins again, clearly not in a hurry to move. The last pieces have slotted into place in his head and he feels _wonderful_.

Kylo is feeling playful, so he tosses Poe up into the air with the Force, hands out to catch him on his descent back down. "Keep saying that and I might not make it as far as the pool with you." 

Poe grins again. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So then that happened! We wanted to take a moment to talk a little about this arc, such was the experience of writing it, so you get an idea of where it came from and how it unfolded.
> 
> When we co-write, we take a character each and run everything as a back-and-forth (for those who don't know yet, Davechicken is Kylo and Shadow Side is Poe). We know the plot and we have a rough idea of where scenes are going to go, but a lot of the time we let them develop organically. It's more fun that way!
> 
> When it came to this particular arc - the Nightmare sequence - we did things a little differently. Because the nightmares themselves were self-contained, Davechicken wrote Kylo's, and Shadow Side wrote Poe's, but as separate pieces that we then bridged together once they were done. Almost nothing was planned in advance, only that we would start with childhood trauma (primarily, of course, so we could deal with Kylo's backstory) and then move on to a future-style nightmare to follow up. And then... we sat and wrote them, separately. When we realised how well Poe's dark-future sequence flowed into Kylo's big showdown sequence, we were more than a little scared! And also not, because we've done things like this before. (It's like a Force-bond but without the Force.)
> 
> And then... there's this last chapter, which ended up being something of a homage to _Inception_ \- another of our favourite movies - without us ever actually planning a Force-damned thing! Indeed, after the main sequence was concluded, Shadow Side spent a night and a day convinced she had messed-up the sequence because Poe's half of it doesn't resolve properly, and wondering what to do about it. Davechicken already knew what was going on - and Shadow Side certainly worked it out much faster than Poe does! - and the 'aftermath' sequence turned into what you saw above. Only when the trauma was truly resolved did the nightmare finally end... and that was _quite_ a relief! ;-)
> 
> Wake up... and know you're awake.
> 
> ***
> 
> ALSO: TheJuggernaut drew us more fanart for THAT scene in Chapter Four. Squeaking noises continue to intensify. Intensely! :-D
> 
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> 
> Credit and larger versions: [@itspronounceddee-ann-uh](http://itspronounceddee-ann-uh.tumblr.com/post/138381669768/behold-everything-i-have-been-doing-instead-of)
> 
> Catch you on the flipside, people!


	20. The Sith Awakens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone. We're back! We hope you enjoyed our four part arc-of-pain last weekend, and now... we come with the chapter we hope you've been waiting for: in which the boys find out precisely where they really are, and what the point of all these tests has been...

Somehow, the two men do actually manage to get up and leave the section of the temple they've been in all this time. They head back outside, where the sun has just finished setting, the air cool and glittering in the moonlight. Everything looks oddly beautiful; otherworldly, somehow, and Poe leans in close against Kylo.

"I hope you're planning to take your time with me," he murmurs. "I have a _lot_ of pent-up need right now and–"

He's interrupted in mid-sentence by a familiar sound: the sound of stone scraping on stone. The sound of another archway opening up. But… this isn't right. It can't be. They only get one arch a day, and always at some point in the morning. Not here. Not now. What's more, the archway that's opened up is the one right at the head of the amphitheatre, and it clearly leads into the grandest building in the whole temple.

"…That's not supposed to happen," Poe says, suddenly all business.

Kylo actually growls for a moment, then shakes his head. "No, it isn't supposed to happen. We're supposed to get time to ourselves." To each other. Kylo's as closely wound as Poe is, and he'd already been playing through several (very, very detailed) fantasies to pick what he wanted the most. 

"Do they honestly expect us to go from our worst nightmares into another? What's next? Having to go through being born all over again? Or--" a thought occurs, and he stamps down on it, hard. No. If the testing ever did try for that, he'd damn well destroy the whole arena. 

"…do you think we should risk waiting?" He isn't sure they should.

Poe would very much like to risk waiting. Very much, for a great many reasons. But… he knows they can't do that. If this place wants them to push on, they're going to have to push on.

"No," he answers, softly. "I don't think we should. I think… we're going to have to do this."

Poe is probably right. Kylo rolls his eyes at whatever Sith thought this was funny, and hopes they have blue balls, or whatever the equivalent is for female parts. "All right. We'll do it. It should be the last test: _The Force shall free me_. And… whatever happens?" he grabs hold of Poe's hand, clutching it tightly. "Whatever happens, we get through it together. Understand?" 

Poe nods. Resolute. "I understand." He leans in and kisses Kylo on the cheek, and then they set off side by side, heading towards the final archway. It's wider than the others, leading into a short corridor and on to another place beyond.

The chamber within is wide and high, with a vaulted ceiling that seems to speak of some greater magnificence. Whatever this place is, it's important. The walls here are in much better shape than those in the rest of the temple, and the carvings on them are more readable. At the back, dead-centre, is an emblem: a circle with an angular shape within it, almost like a stylised TIE-fighter, but at the same time not; at the same time something very different.

Before either of them can speak, a deep red glow fills the room, emanating from an object that rises up from a pedestal to one side: a large, glittering, now-hovering cube. A holocron.

With a burst of light, lines project out from it, into the centre of the room, forming the image of a figure: a figure wearing long, dark robes, armoured across the torso, hooded cloak sweeping up over their back. And… a helmet, a _mask_ , that is strikingly similar to the one Kylo Ren favours. So similar that, for a moment, you could almost believe…

…No. No. Wait. It's not immediately obvious with the cloak covering the figure, but after a few seconds it becomes clear that the person they're looking at is a woman. A woman with what – judging by its length and design – is a double-bladed lightsabre hilt hanging at her hip.

A Dark Lady of the Sith.

Although it's just a holo, Kylo still startles and looks very much like he's seen a ghost. He hisses in a breath at first, then looks to Poe to see his reaction. Poe doesn't seem to understand the significance the same way he does, and… ah. Yes. He didn't exactly attend Jedi training and then Snoke's own blend of conditioning. 

"Poe, that's Darth Revan," he explains. "She was a Knight of the Old Republic, before she turned to the Dark Side." 

Poe stares between the hologram, and Kylo. It's one thing to have spent the last few days talking about the Sith of Old, but it's quite another to be facing one, even just as a recording.

"…The resemblance is… was it deliberate? Did you..?"

Did you borrow your aesthetic from a long-dead Sith, or is it some kind of Dark Side tradition?

"It… ah… and my grandfather." The taller man sounds ever so slightly sheepish at that. "I wanted to… emulate my forebears. Yes." Please don't make fun of me for it. "Dark Lords have long favoured masks. And black." 

Poe smiles, not unkindly. "So I see."

Before he can say more, however, the holographic woman moves a little. She's been standing still since the holocron activated, as if surveying them, but now she reaches up, unlatching her helmet and slipping it off, setting it down on a pedestal just out of sight of the recording. The face beneath is that of a woman maybe forty years old, with pale skin and short, dark hair, and a confident, calculating expression.

"Welcome, my fellow Sith, to Eigengrau. If you are here, if you are watching this, then you have completed the trials my temple was designed to put you through, and you have emerged victorious. That, after all, is why we fight. Why we push ourselves. Why we strive to become what we are. Through victory, our chains are broken. _Your_ chains are broken. You are free, in the Force, in the galaxy."

A little tilt of the head. Acknowledgement, if nothing more. "I cannot say how long this temple will endure, so as well as a mark of your victory, I leave this holocron as an enduring sign of myself. Who I am. What I have built. What…" The slightest eyeflick, off to the side, to something or someone unseen. "…I have _learnt_."

"I am Darth Revan, Dark Lady of the Sith, Supreme Commander of the Sith Forces. I was once Revan, Knight of the Jedi Order, Commander of the Jedi Forces in the Great Mandalorian Wars. I have travelled the galaxy, I have fought, I have triumphed, I have suffered. And now I stand here, with one last lesson to give you."

"In the beginning, I was a Jedi. I was a _great_ Jedi, resplendent in the Light Side. The Council charged me with leading the fight against the Mandalorians – I and my closest ally, Malak – and together we waged a war that the galaxy would never forget. And in the midst of it all, we found something we had never experienced before. Something the Jedi Council hid from us. The _Dark_ Side."

"It liberated us. It broke our chains and set us free. At last, we could feel, we could be, we could _do_. We fell in love. But… we fell deeper. Deeper into it, into what we could achieve with the power we had discovered. With nothing to temper it, no awareness of balance… we were lost to it. We waged a new war of our own, a war to seize the galaxy and bend it to our will. And it destroyed us. The power that had bound us up soon split us apart. We had embraced the old, traditional ways of the Sith, and they called for the Apprentice to rise up against the Master."

"Malak betrayed me. The Jedi took me. They wiped my memories and tried to destroy the person I had been. Tried to make me into someone else, someone they could control, someone they could re-form into a new shining Knight to replace the one they had lost."

Another little headtilt, and the slightest, slightest hesitation, as though the words are hard to say. Darth Revan does not look like the kind of person who would ever display such feelings, even just barely, but she does now. Perhaps that is deliberate.

"It worked, for a time," she continues. "But the true nature of a person will always come out in the end. The fearful will run. The treasonous will betray. The powerful will rise up. And I rose up. I took back my memories, my identity, my self. I re-forged the person I was and I railed against the Order that had tried to destroy me. I railed against the galaxy that had dared stand against me. I killed Darth Malak. I killed a great many people. I killed…" the barest waver in her voice, "…four of my closest friends. And I drove away the one who tried to save me. I drove away the one I had come to love. He ran when he saw what I had become. When he could not stop the killing. When he could not stop the _Dark_."

"For years, I revelled in the Dark Side. I led my armies to victory. I conquered great swathes of the galaxy. It was glorious. It was magnificent. It was everything I thought I wanted. But… it could not make the pain inside me abate. It could not remove the knowledge that I had driven the first love of my life to madness, and the second to exile. That I had murdered my friends. That I had struck down a great Force-user – another Jedi-turned-Sith – when she too became nothing but a number in the calculus of my war."

"And then… something happened that changed everything. The second love of my life – the _greatest_ love of my life – came back."

There's movement on the holocron, and a second figure steps into view just behind Darth Revan: a man, a little taller than the Dark Lady of Old, dressed not in the garb of a Sith or a Jedi, but in some kind of combat armour. No… not quite combat armour. A modified flight suit.

A pilot.

"When I first saw Carth Onasi again, my instinct was the same as it had been the day he left. To either kill him, or to make him see the truth of the Dark Side. I took him and I showed him and I thought it would all fall into place. But… at the same time, he showed _me_ something." Revan looks up, and back, at the man standing at her shoulder. At Carth. He puts a hand on her arm, supportive, and she holds his gaze for a moment before turning her attention forward again.

"And what I finally came to understand," Revan goes on, "is this. In the Dark Side, there is passion, strength, power, victory, freedom. But there is also emptiness, fear, obsession, hatred, loss. And in the Light Side, there is peace, knowledge, serenity, harmony. But… there is also oppression, denial, deception, dischord. To be Light is to deny who you really are. To be Dark… is to _lose_ who you really are."

Carth's grip tightens visibly against Revan's arm, and she lays a hand over his for a moment.

"So… I came at last to the realisation I had spent my whole life searching for. I understood the mistake we had all been caught up in. The lie. The fallacy of the false choice. You do not have to be one or the other. You can be _both_."

She holds out her hands. Above her right, a soft ball of light floats, swirling serenely, muted, careful. And above her left, a tight little maelstrom of Force lightning, crackling and sparking, vibrant, dangerous. Revan lets them both endure, side by side, for a long moment, before making them both fade out with a flash.

"And so, I rebuilt the very notion of what it means to be a Sith. We seek passion, strength, power, victory, yes… but we do not lose ourselves in it. We understand what we are, we strive to enhance what we are, but we strive not to fall into the True Dark. Ours is not merely a balance but a… mingling. A unifying. An acceptance that there is no Light without Dark, and no Dark without Light. There have been grey Jedi. We… are grey Sith."

"You are a part of that, now. You have come through the five tests of the New Sith Order: tests that prove your strength, your abilities, but tests that also require control. Certainty. Tests that demonstrate your Dark is tempered by Light. Your chaos is tempered by order. Proof… that the dichotomy is a lie. Proof that you never had to make a choice in the first place."

"I understand that at last. I am Sith, but I am both Dark and Light. I am a Darth of the New Sith Order, and… from this point on, you who stand here victorious can call yourselves the same. You have triumphed, like me. You are whole. You are _free_."

And the Sith of Old looks up at her pilot-lover, and she smiles. He smiles.

"May the Force be with you," Revan and Carth say, in unison.

Then the holocron fades, the images flicker out of being, and all is still.

Kylo doesn't move for several, long moments. He can't. He won't turn his head from the dead space where a long-revered, almost-mentor spoke to him. He reaches for Poe with one hand, grabbing for his, and holding it in a death-grip. 

"…did I hallucinate that?" he asks, eventually. His voice a little rougher than usual, a little… less controlled. 

Poe looks stunned as well. He doesn't have Kylo's knowledge of who this woman was or anything else about her history, but he heard the same words, and he knows they're game-changing. _Galaxy_ -changing.

"If you did, then I did too," he manages. "Kylo… that was…"

"…I…" What the hell? Kylo's struggling to process it. There's so much to handle, to accept, but at the same time… it's simply a validation of the conclusions they came to, alone. He looks across to his lover, and… it's not quite a smile, but close.

"…I guess you were right, after all." Sith. Force-using lovers, devotees of emotion and attachment, without the nasty side-effect of mass-murder and needless cruelty. A middle way. Difficult, but possible. "I suppose that means I really am a Sith, now." 

A pause. "…and so, apparently, are you." 

"…Wait, what?" Poe says. "Me? I'm not a Force-user."

He's still trying to process what they've seen. A Jedi who became a Sith, who fell in love with a pilot and went looking for a third path. It's like the galaxy is mirroring itself, thousands of years later.

"You might not be a Force-sensitive, but you got through every one of those tests the same as me." Kylo thinks this is hilarious, and is struggling to keep from exploding with laughter. "Darth Poe. Or Darth Dameron? You can still be my Apprentice, you know… Have to put more black on you. The first Sith X-Wing pilot…" 

Poe actually facepalms, trying to work out how he's going to explain _this_ to the rest of his squadron. Although… deeper down, he can't quite get over how joyful Kylo is. How _free_ he seems, freer even than the way he looked when they came out of the last test.

Because it was, clearly, the last test. The Force had already freed them. All that had been left was to come here and see that recording. To understand what all this has been in aid of.

"Darth Poe," he insists, giving into it because there really is no stopping it now. And Snap is going to break him in two when he finds out, although if Poe survives it then the nickname will probably stick.

The first Sith X-Wing pilot, indeed.

"…And what about you?" he adds, expression flaring with renewed pleasure. " _Darth Kylo_."

"I like the sound of that," Kylo agrees, turning to put his hands on Poe's waist, pulling him sharply in closer. "Darth Kylo, Dark Lord of the Sith." Master of the Knights of Ren, who are likely going to either go insane or try to kill him when they find out what he's planned. That… that thought can wait until after Snoke. 

"How does it feel, to be the first non-Force-wielding Sith?" he lets his hands slide further back, going to curl over Poe's ass and give it a playful grope. 

"Extraordinarily weird," Poe admits, arching in against the other man, enjoying the hands on him. "I'm… well, I'm not, not really, but…"

But he also sort of is. Isn't he? He may have had a certain amount of help with the tests, but he survived them all. Even the last one, in the end. He did. _They_ did.

"You know… Sith are renowned for their dedication to **passion**." It's a terrible, terrible line. Kylo's just so over-wrought with everything that he thinks it might actually be funny. He hoists harder with those hands, pulling him inexorably closer to his own groin. 

"But you would know. As you are one. And so we should probably… celebrate?" 

It really is hard to deny the look in the other man's eyes. Poe rests his hands on the fronts of Kylo's shoulders, staring up at him. "Far be it from me to ignore the teachings of my _master_ ," he practically _purrs_ , going for broke. "After all, if I am to call myself a Sith… I still have a lot to learn."

There's a hungry, happy little flicker in Kylo's eyes at that. Oh so easy. Oh so very, very easy to do what comes next… his hands slide free, and he takes a half-step back.

"Kneel for me, Dameron." 

Poe drops at once. Without a flicker of hesitation. Without question. He kneels down low, head bowed, surrendering. The words fill him with a heat that spreads through his whole body, that he can feel weighing on him like a firm, almost comforting presence. He's felt a certainty about this every time he's done it – even that first time, out in the jungle – but right now it feels so totally and absolutely right that he can hardly breathe.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to speak. Not yet.

The world is glorious and bright and sparkling and alive and filled with so much potential. All the stars in the cosmos, and they aligned to give Poe Dameron to Kylo Ren. Kylo sends up a silent prayer to thank the Force for this gift, and promises to make good use of it. He beams down at him, loving the way his shoulders and hands offer such perfect submission to him, to his will. He pushes fingers through the soft, dark curls and then down… down and to his chin. He tilts his head back up, so their eyes can meet. 

"Worship me," he insists. "And I will use you, like you were intended to be used. I will fill your body, heart and soul with me. I will make you hurt so beautifully that you cannot help but _love_ it, love **me**. Open up for me, my Pilot. Let me inside, all the way inside." 

Poe's eyes shine with adoration, with love, with _wanting_. With the understanding that, though he does not have the Force, he can still be Light and Dark all at once. He can still be the pilot, the soldier, that the Resistance needs, but at the same time he can give himself over to what _he_ needs, without having to shy from it.

" _Yes, Master_ ," he declares, softly. Surely. " _Anything_."

He hasn't been given _specific_ instructions, which he takes as a request to use his initiative. He shifts position so he's kneeling a little more upright, lifting his hands and running them slowly over his lover's waist, his hips, his stomach. Leaning in to press against him, pushing up his shirt to lay soft kisses against his skin. Slow. _Reverent_.

Clever fingers work into Poe's hair, holding him close, making sure he doesn't run. Kylo is practically purring under the attention, glowing from it. He sends the first tendril against Poe's mind, tugging his sense of smell sharper, until he can scent the arousal that's heavy in the air. 

"You are so beautiful when you kneel," Kylo tells him, rapturously. "The minute I saw you like that, I had to get _closer_. Had to see the black in your eyes… I wonder how you'd have taken it if I…" and here he slams Poe's face into his groin, holding him utterly still for a minute, "…tried to have my wicked way with you in front of everyone? I bet you'd have loved to be so wanted that I couldn't even wait to get you back to my ship." 

"I would have fought you every step of the way," Poe answers – honestly – when he can. "And I would have loved every minute of it." Also honest. "But I wanted your attention. Your _complete_ attention."

A hand on the fastening of Kylo's pants. Still not rushing. "Besides… you were playing hard to get. You had me put on one of the troop-carriers. You could have put me on your own ship. Had them chain me up in one of the side-rooms, where you could have your wicked way with me on the long ride home…"

His eyes go darker still. It's all just hypothetical, of course. Neither of them truly understood what they wanted at that early point. But that's no reason not to have a little fun with the memories.

"I had to make sure they got you ready for me, instead. Had to show I wasn't playing favourites, even though I wanted to. It would have been difficult to keep all of those eyes and ears away from us if I took you on my ship." And by 'take' he means precisely that.

His cock is hard and full, straining with long-repressed need. Just because he's getting laid every day doesn't mean it isn't an agony waiting for life to let them get it on. Kylo slams a hard image into Poe: _being dragged to the small bridge of his shuttle. Being made to kneel by his side as he stands and surveys the crew. Being made to want, and being denied even eye-contact. Force-fingers stroking down over his spine, making him arch and present like the needy little bitch he is._

"So I'll do it when we get to the _Finalizer_. I'll strap you into that chair and I'll make you climax with just my words, just my voice, just my mind inside your mind. Make you writhe and beg me to take the secrets of the Resistance, so I stop taking your every. Last. Shred. Of. Sanity." 

"I'll give you whatever you ask," Poe tells him, levelly. His whole body is trembling slightly with the thoughts, with the images, with how downright _dangerous_ they are, eyes pleading for mercy and for more in the very same look. But his voice doesn't waver, doesn't crack. Doesn't break.

He knows what he's saying, too. _Whatever you ask_. Not because he's betraying the Resistance, but because he knows anything he does tell Kylo will be safe with him. Because he believes, because he _trusts_ , that the other man won't betray him. And to offer _that_ , to offer the secrets in his head, is far more than offering his body.

He is one man. The secrets, the Resistance… they are many. They are _everything_.

"How many times do you think I can make you come, Poe? How many times can I stoke that fire in you before your body refuses to obey? Can I trip the switch…" like he does now, slamming the sensation of climax without letting his body actually spill, "…over, and over, and over? Do you think you will be able to sleep, or do you think I will be able to drag you back to the Light to touch your Dark spaces all over?" 

The feelings that rip through Poe make his mind go hazy for a moment, and all he can do is keep his hands on Kylo's hips and wait until the majority of it passes. He bows his head at the same time, not quite able to meet the other man's eyes. Afraid of what Kylo is threatening. _Offering_. Afraid of how much he thinks he wants it.

"As many times as it takes to break me," he whispers, voice giving way to the intensity of it all now. He means it, too. Kylo has taken him right to the edge on a number of occasions, whited out his mind, made him beg, made him plead, made him lose all grip on reality. But… Poe hasn't truly broken. Not yet. Not quite. He knows it, because he hasn't given up his last, great secret. He hasn't given up the location of the Resistance base, and he won't, not because he doesn't trust Kylo, but because he _will not_ give it up if he has any choice whatsoever in the matter.

"Put that mouth of yours to use, before I make it tell me things it doesn't want," Kylo snarls. There's a dark, hungry undercurrent to his voice, now. A sadism he's letting flare, but he knows in his gut that it's okay to do so. He won't go too far, he won't take this where neither of them wants. 

The next image is of Poe back in Kylo's own rooms. _Should he turn his head, he'll see the death mask of his ancestor, his other role model. If he could turn his head, of course. Kylo's got him strung up from the ceiling, his arms and legs spread wide and his body pulling at the seams. A holowhip in one hand, and a kiss of it over and over and over. Kylo turns it, twists it, and then the handle is pushing into him and Poe can feel it ramming against his insides, angling for that spot he loves so well._

This particular mental image hits just as Poe is in the process of working the other man's clothing out of the way, giving himself access to his lover's very eager erection. He licks his lips, about to wrap them around Kylo's cock, and then the little tableau hits and the flare of _need_ is so intense that he almost goes sideways under it.

" _Yes_ ," he gasps, wanting to fall into the moment and have it made real. " _ **Yes**_."

For now, he has to content himself with this, with struggling through the images enough to remember where he is _now_ and what he wants _now_. He pushes up – having fallen back a little against his heels – and takes his lover's cock deep into his mouth, sucking all the way to the root and then back down to the tip.

And again. And again.

And… oh, but that's a mental image he's going to keep. Something else he hasn't thought of yet. Something he'll dwell on in the days to come.

Kylo thinks this is a fun game: try to distract Poe and keep him fighting to stay in the moment. He has to be careful not to overdo it, because if he does then this will play out very differently. He has to give him enough rope to either hang himself, or climb free. That's the most interesting thing of all. 

He wraps his hand around Poe's throat, constricting it, making it tighter with each thrust in. Poe's good at that, good at giving pleasure with his mouth, lips and tongue. Kylo lets him see an image of himself doing the selfsame thing to his sabre hilt, and then the image adds a black, leather glove working over his lover's own dick, as he teases him ever on.

"Make me proud, my Apprentice. Show me the passion you've learned. Show me the power of your Dark Side." 

Poe doesn't need telling twice. Or once. Or, indeed, at all. He is absolutely _aching_ with need, to the point where it hurts, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

And there's that word. _Apprentice_. Not like a true Sith – no, not without the Force – but something more personal. Something that is all them. He does still have a lot to learn, about what he wants. About what he can _have_.

He goes about what he's doing with renewed vigour, taking Kylo deep every time. That hand around his throat makes it harder – makes other things harder too – and the lack of oxygen leaves his head dizzy. It ought to make him slow down as well, but it doesn't. On the contrary, he works even faster, giving little thought to how close to the edge he's playing this.

He's not moving fast enough for Kylo, though, and the Sith grabs Poe's head in both hands and shoves him so far down he can feel his throat working to try to breathe around the shaft impaling him so thoroughly. He hisses out in pleasure, and holds him there until he feels Poe starting to slip sideways, and then pulls out. He slaps his cock over Poe's lips, watching how his eyes are dark and his body all but broken into place.

But not enough. Not yet. Kylo starts to ride his face in earnest: holding his ears for leverage as he fucks him brutally hard and fast. The images start to get more disjointed, now, but no less hungry.

_Poe, bound from head to toe in beautiful, glittering chains of the finest, sparkling durasteel. So tight he can't move too much or risk injury, so trussed into position and then fingered over and over, whilst Kylo tells him how beautiful he is._

_Poe, slammed face-first into the grass. The ship they brought out here, to Yavin 4, still humming itself cold. His flight-suit rucked down for access, as Kylo claims him on his homeworld, tells him he's come home at last and even the planet will know he's owned._

_Poe, bent over a knee and naked. No dick in his ass, no toy, no finger. A hand slapping over bare, hungry skin and a gag in his mouth so the people in the next building along don't hear his agonised screams of wanting._

Kylo spears the need right through him, taking control of Poe's pleasure centres, flooding them with his own enjoyment, making his presence _known_. " **You look so beautiful on your knees, Dameron. It's where you belong.** "

It is almost – almost – too much for Poe, now. Physical pressure exhausting his lungs. Mental pressure whiting out his mind. Images that he wants, he _needs_ , so badly, that their not being real – yet – is somehow a special agony all of its own.

He'd beg if he could. If he had a moment to get a word out. If there was some way to give voice to the thoughts in his head… _in his head_ … wait… wait…

He concentrates. It is hard to concentrate when your lover is violently fucking your mouth and your mind at the same time, but he tries. Tries to find the strength, the stillness, that he feels when he slips into that other-place, but turns it instead into control. Just the tiniest hint of control. Not to resist or object – never that – but to give the other man a vision of his own. He can't push it into Kylo's mind, no, but he can make it flare hot and bright in his own, where he knows his lover will see it.

Another imagined scene. _A darkened room somewhere, cold and metallic. Maybe the_ Finalizer _. Maybe just built to look like it, to utilise the aesthetic, the undertones, the_ history _. He himself, flat on his back on a raised table, naked, spread-eagled. Open. Helpless. Bound with tight restraints, unable to move. And then Kylo standing over him, that vibroblade in his hand, drawing the edge light and deadly over Poe's skin. Their eyes meeting, terror and love mixed in that single moment._

And the words. The words he imagines himself saying. The words he wants to say to Kylo, right here and now.

_I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours. **Take what you need**._

It's too good, too glorious for words. Kylo's movements go ragged, and he fucks his lover almost to suffocation. Ramming in and in, over and over, his fingers trembling and his balls aching with need. This. Them. Love. Dark. Light. All of it. _Kylo Ren knows they're awake_. He calls out in purest victory, spilling deep inside his pilot's mouth, filling him up. The doors between them are so wide open that his own climax slams – impossible to resist – into Poe's. He feels like it's the surest thing, the brightest thing, the _rightest_ thing to be doing, to love and abuse his Pilot-Apprentice-Lover-Mate. Poe. Poe who is all Kylo ever wanted, all he ever needed.

He howls out in bliss as his knees lock, almost falling, staggering with the sudden slam from kidneys into balls into dick into Poe. It's so good. So damn good. He pulls back enough to let him struggle in air, and gazes down at him with an expression of purest victory.

"I love you," he tells him, when his voice works enough to say it. "I love you." 

When it's all over, Poe drops back against his heels, gasping for air. The sensations, the _images_ still swimming through his mind, they're almost too much, and all he can do is stay where he is, swaying just a little, head bowed again.

"I…" he tries, throat rough from the abuse. "…I love you too."

Kylo catches Poe's head, pulls it towards him, rests it on his hip. He hasn't let his lover orgasm, not properly, and he's acutely aware of that fact. He scratches his fingers down over his scalp and to his shoulder, and holds him for a moment longer.

And then he pushes into his lover's head all over again, skimming through the thoughts, looking for the brightest, sharpest desire. He wants to give it to him, but there's so many possibilities that it doesn't hurt to cheat just a _little_. 

The pilot's eyes roll up at that, the mental intrusion so deep and so intimate that he's starting to think he enjoys it even more than physical sex. And he enjoys physical sex a _lot_.

The images in his mind are convoluted now, though, his focus starting to slip, his awareness – previously held aloft by the need to concentrate on satisfying his lover – on the brink and ready to fall _fast_. He gasps out loud, the pleasure in his tone unmistakeable. He wants to beg, but… no. No. Whatever Kylo wants, Poe will give him, even if it means denying his own needs for longer. For however long it…

_…A flash of an image, in his mind. He's got a whole headful of fantasies up there, but one in particular sparks disjointedly to the fore, unbidden: Poe, on his back, Kylo half on top of him, stroking him right to the edge… and then stopping, over and over, making him beg, making him plead, not letting him fall until he's so out of his mind that…_

Perfect, Kylo thinks, and he lets go of Poe's head. He moves his body using the Force, making him obey without first asking. He knows Poe will enjoy it, as he's pushed onto his back and his legs and arms are forced motionless. 

"You like the thought of insanity, don't you?" Kylo purrs, and lithely sinks to his own knees, straddling his legs. He runs hands over his upper thighs, his sides, his stomach… not pushing clothing away, and not touching his groin. Not yet. 

He tucks his own cock carefully back away, dressing himself fully, so Poe doesn't get any more to watch. He palms close to his groin, but doesn't touch. Not yet. "Tell me, do you think you would go mad if I denied you forever? If I kept you on the brink for days, but refused to let you ever topple over the edge?" 

Poe actually struggles a little as he's pushed down like that, not because he wants to resist in any way – which is a good thing, on account of the fact that he _can't_ – but because he loves feeling how firmly he's being held. Loves the sensation of being _overwhelmed_.

And he does like the thought of insanity, yes. He is also terrified by it. The two emotions, counterposed, contradictory, collide in his head, over and over, each ratcheting the other still higher.

"…Yes…" he whispers. "It… you… would break me…"

"Maybe I'll do just that, one day. Make you want me, over and over. Use your body for my own pleasure, but deny you yours." He uses the heel of his palm, kneading at the bulge in his pants, feeling for the heft of him below. 

"…bind your cock in ribbons of the Force, and fuck you until I'm done, and then make you lie awake for hours. Your pretty, pink prick saluting the ceiling. Make you beg for release, and know that your begging falls on deaf ears…" He starts to unfasten belt, now, and then reaches a cruel hand in to grasp him **hard**.

" _ **Fuck!**_ " Poe cries out, already sounding utterly broken, utterly desperate. Slightly completely agonisingly aware of the ramifications of what he is – still – asking for. "Please… please, I…"

Instinct makes him beg; instinct and the rush of need that's flooding to the surface. He struggles again (caught, held, trapped, _fuckfuckfuck_ ) and then stares up at Kylo, his eyes wide and black and desperate.

Kylo is enjoying this. Far, far too much. His eyes are lit with a strange fanaticism, a yearning, a fire that consumes all in its path. "You'll promise me the stars, you'll promise me the galaxy, you'll offer to win it all for me, but you'll know I want nothing more than you. Nothing left to offer me, but you."

He pulls Poe's cock out, and wraps a warm hand around his shaft. Thumb over the crown, swirling circles over the leaking slit. "I'll make every last nerve in your body sing out my name, and then I'll hold you right on the edge. So close you wish it would never stop, and wish it had stopped ten years ago. I'll make you see how you could never be anyone's but mine, how no one else could ever know you – please you – like your Master can." 

"You have me," Poe promises, and he clearly means it. "You have me, all of me. I will… I… please, more, pleasepleaseplease…"

He has definitely pushed this too far. That's probably the thing he loves most about it.

"…I'll do anything, I'll do anything, I'll do anything…"

Kylo's voice is deep enough without the mask. "You will. You'll do anything I ask. If I asked you to lick my boots, you would. If I asked you to fly your ship with a toy inside you to keep you open for me, you would. If I asked you to count the number of times people smiled at you and you smiled back, then report them back so each one turns into a lash from my belt, you would…"

He starts to stroke him, fist so tight it must be an agony, slow, slow lift and fall. Pulling him closer, but never close enough. "If I asked you to give me your _name_ and I put another in its place, you would."

Not that Kylo intends to. Although… maybe in private, he might. But the thought is still a thrilling one. He slams into his balls, and then suddenly speeds up, urging him close, closer… then strangling down at the base of his dick and not moving at all. 

" _ **Please!**_ " Poe all but screams, arching up as much as is possible with the Force holding him down like this. His eyes are wide and desperate, pleading unashamedly, and shot more and more with the awareness of _precisely_ what he's let himself in for.

"Master… Master… _please_ …"

His mind struggles too, his every instinct telling him to submit, to surrender, to give in, to let himself sink under into the endless dark. But his need is too great, too strong, too bright, and it holds him up, betraying him even as it spurs him on to wanting even more.

"Please what, Poe? Please more? Please less? Please wipe your name off the record, destroy Poe Dameron whole, make him new and in my image? Please let you come? Please never let you come? _What is it you want_?"

Still gripping him tight, preventing any climax, Kylo lets his other hand fist up and down, his fingers pressing in as he weaves his grip up and down, up and down. 

" _Please let me come_ ," Poe manages, the words spoken extremely fast and more than a little high-pitched. "Please… I'm so close… so close… I can't… I can't… _please_ …"

The rest of the world has gone dark, inside and out, and somehow – perhaps ironically so – Kylo is the only light left in it. A bright, burning, gloriously cruel light.

" **No**." No. He wants to court this, to dance around the gravity-well of insanity. He wants to skirt the event horizon, and Kylo is more than prepared to suck him all the way in. He leans over Poe, arching, hair falling on either side of his face like a black waterfall, and then presses their foreheads together.

Slew after slew of images, some more defined than others. _Poe on all fours, struggling to stay up under Kylo's fierce fucking. Poe with his hands in Kylo's hair, yanking hard and making the Sith scream, as he rides himself on Kylo's dick. Poe seeping red blood out from a symbol – the one just behind them – written deep into his skin, a tongue lapping up the mess and making his body burn. Poe bound down to the bed as Kylo rides_ him _, makes him lie back and just accept the sensations of his lover using him for every kind of pleasure…_

He strokes him to near completion, then he stops. Pauses. Nothing. Again… then pauses. Nothing. He wonders how insane he really _can_ make him, if there's a point where enough is enough? Harder. Faster. Rougher. 

There is certainly a point where everyone snaps. Some can take more, some less, but, sooner or later, it will break them in half. Pain is the traditional means of reaching this point, but the thing about pain is that it and pleasure are two sides of the same coin; indistinguishable, for the most part, if you happen to be wired up the right way.

So why does Poe feel like he passed that point quite a while back?

He doesn't know. All he knows is desperate pleasurepain. All he knows is need. All he knows is _this_.

"I'm begging you," he all but cries, voice totally wrecked. "I'm begging you, please let me come, please, please…"

"Say it. Say my name. Call for me, and I will give you what you need." Kylo strokes him again, fiercely, teetering on the fine line before Poe just can't hold out, Force powers holding him back or no. "Do it, Pilot. Do it." 

" _Kylo_ ," Poe gasps, a plea and a prayer combined, a man utterly on the brink. "Kylo… _Master_ … _**please**_ …"

The last hiss of the please hasn't even died away from Poe's lips when Kylo smashes his own mouth over the top. He pushes that last word back inside, biting and licking and taking his lover's mouth with furious adoration. He keeps the choke hold in place, stroking harder, harder, harder… then with a mental command of _come_ he lets go of the restraint keeping him hard, letting him come. 

The second the restraint goes down, pleasure smacks through and into and over Poe's whole body all at once. The sudden release is like a tidal barrier smashing in one go, and with a wordless cry he's coming so hard he can't see, his whole body on fire with it, the bliss chasing through him and filling him up and tearing him apart. It takes a few seconds for him to regain some semblance of breath, but once he does he _howls_ out again, needing to vocalise but completely unable to find any actual words sufficient to do it.

His climax rolls on, and on, all that pent-up tension and need and desperation ripping through him and out of him, and it feels like an age before the waves begin to subside, before the near-agonising ecstasy fades back, leaving him exhausted and sated in equal measure.

The pilot looks up with hazy, distant eyes, meeting the other man's now. Understanding, on some deeper level, that he really did just mentally break in two. That he really did just _break_. And… that it's OK, because – with Kylo – it will always be safe for him to do so.

"D'Qar," he whispers, very softly. "They're on D'Qar."

Then the world goes sideways and he all but blacks out.

Kylo blinks in surprise. He really wasn't trying to get intel from him, and to be fair… if he'd wanted it, he could have taken it long before now. But it's… offered. Freely offered, by a man who trusts him with more than his life. He slows the touches down to almost nothing, then kisses his mouth, all the way up to his eyes.

"They're safe with me," he promises, as he flicks off the worst of the mess from his hand, then tucks Poe back into his pants with care. "Just like you are, my beautiful Apprentice. My beloved." He climbs off him, stoops to pick him up, and makes to carry him back out to the pod. He feels… good. Satisfied. Self-satisfied. Happy.

All things he thought he'd never truly feel again, barely a week ago. Has it been that fast? Was it all it took? A Pilot with a heart bigger than a solar system, and a Sith temple designed by one of his idols? It feels impossible, impossible, but real. 

The movement brings back just enough of Poe's mind for him to be vaguely aware of what's happening. But only vaguely. He feels himself being lifted up, strong arms holding him close, the warmth of the other man's body rushing into him, and he tries to curl in tighter, seeking all the contact he can get. Needing it right now, so very much.

He knows he's being carried out of the temple and into the cool, night air beyond it – and he wonders, hazily, what the woman who built this place might have thought of their particular way of dealing with its trials, and of celebrating each success.

He suspects the Dark Lady would have approved.

The walk back to the pod is quiet, and easy… at least until BB-8 comes whirling out of nowhere, beeping and chittering in a mixture of hope and alarm, announcing that something has happened. Announcing that it has detected an energy field fading out, as if uncovering this place again and that, within moments of the discovery, a signal came through from Kylo's shuttle. Stating that the stormtroopers on board did indeed manage to land it, and that they've been trapped – several hundred miles away – unable to take off because of the energy field lying over the planet.

The energy field that has now lifted.

Announcing that they're coming back for their leader… and for his Resistance prisoner.

Kylo clutches Poe tighter. It had to be coming, of course, but he hasn't had time to process it, to think about it. To… consider… how to handle it. He'd been too tied up in his and Poe's lusts to work the several steps down the line.

"How long do we have?" he asks the droid.

The response is not that long of a time period, and is also not precise.

"…I suppose we should make it look more like you're my actual slave, shouldn't we?" The irony is not lost on Kylo. 

The urgency of it all starts to pull Poe's mind back to the present, but it is a slow process. Partly because he doesn't want to come back. "…You mean I don't already?" murmurs the man still lying in his master's arms.

"More like my actual, mind-raped slave and not my genuine, mind-" pause, think. "…thoroughly seduced slave," Kylo corrects, and rubs his lips over Poe's cheek. "If you smile too much, they will know something is wrong." 

Poe rests his head against Kylo again. "I'm good at keeping things hidden, when I want to be," he says. And then, a soft little sigh, an acceptance that the galaxy is catching up with them. "…What do you want me to do?"

"Well, I want us to clean up, first. So they don't smell our… lovemaking all over us. And then I should put what I can of my own clothing back on – maybe put your ruined shirt on you – and just before they arrive I suspect it would be easiest if I do take control of you." Kylo cocks his head, a pause. "If you consent to that."

Considering what they've just been up to, the point might be moot, but still important to him. 

"Of course," Poe answers. He knows he's still very out of his head, but he's also come far enough back to feel more or less lucid… and he knows he'd make the same decision if he were entirely so. "Whatever it takes. I need this to work as much as you do."

"I will be in your head to reassure you as much as I can. I won't be able to break you free until we're back with the _Finalizer_ , but the minute I can, I will." 

Kylo looks down at BB-8. "Would you please inform us if they arrive any earlier than their ETA?"

The droid bounces out a yes.

Well, then. Looks like this is it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, _'eigengrau'_ is German for 'intrinsic grey' and is the term for the colour that you see in the absence of light, but which is not, in fact, true darkness. We thought it seemed appropriate! ;-)
> 
> ***
> 
> Hey there, readers. Shadow Side here. I'm the one who handles the posting of this insane thing, so the little notes you usually get are written by me, but _from_ both of us (hence why I write in the plural). But today, I wanted to de-lurk fully in order to talk to you for a moment myself.
> 
> Way back when I first got into online fandom and fanfic-writing - well over a decade ago, now - the very first character I wrote was Darth Revan. I had just finished playing the epic that is _Knights of the Old Republic_ , and I was so enthralled by it that I started writing my incarnation of Revan back in an old LiveJournal community called Theatrical Muse. I wrote her post-KotOR as the fully Darkside Sith she had ended up as in my playthrough, hellbent on conquering the galaxy and embracing the fullest potential of her power, whilst searching for the lover who had - due to a mis-step in my playing of the game's romance quest - escaped when she chose to abandon the Light. The whole experience was quite a joy and, though those days are long behind me, she remains one of the most formative and important muses I have ever had.
> 
> When Davechicken and I began plotting _this_ thing out, and we came up with the idea of the Sith Temple, I suggested that we could make it Revan's temple. Partly because we needed a named Sith of Old, but far more so because the resurgence of Star Wars into my online life had woken her up again, and I felt this pull right at my core to do something for her I'd never been able to do when I was so very much younger:
> 
> I wanted to save her. Just a little. Not in any Jedi way, but in the way that had eluded me in the past. The way that Davechicken and I had developed in the writing of this new fic: the realisation of that false choice, and the balance of both Dark and Light. So... I did. Writing her holocron monologue in this chapter was such a strange experience. It was very much like watching a message from the past myself, seeing the person my muse had become in the depths of my mind, whilst I was distracted by other things.
> 
> And, let me tell you, those flickers of a happy ending, of the resolution of the Sith Way that I have tried to find and to follow all these years... that soothed something deep inside. Soothed something, and woke it up.
> 
> So... I just wanted to share that with you. Also, yes, we are both aware that canonically (Legends-canonically), Revan is male and ends up a Lightsider again. But this is fanfic, and - to me - Revan will always be the kickass Sith chick who shaped more of my mindset than I would care to admit.
> 
> After all... _there is only passion_.


	21. As You Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations, readers! We're back again, and with this chapter we finally come to the end of the Eigengrau arc... and therefore to the beginning of what comes next... ;-)

The mood is strange as they make their preparations. Both men know what they have to do – what they _need_ to do – and Poe, certainly, is far too conscious of the weight of it.

They've spent five days and five nights on this planet – Eigengrau, Revan's hologram called it – but to Poe it feels much longer, in a very good way. The person he was before he came here… he is that person still, and also not, and it's… strange.

He has no doubts. No regrets. But he does have some fears now: fears about what's to come. What they'll face when the First Order comes for _them_.

Though he's cleaned up, Poe looks quite a state. It would be all too easy to believe him to be the broken man he'll have to seem, if they're to pull this off. Though at the back of his mind is the awareness that this is partly because he _is_. Just not in any way the First Order will expect.

He waits for Kylo to finish his own preparations and then – almost cautiously – approaches. Glancing at the sky, a little nervously, as if worried they'll be interrupted by the roar of that shuttle catching up with them, even though he knows BB-8 will warn them long in advance.

Kylo has his gloves back on, the tattered remnants of his uniform. The only thing left to don is his helmet, which he has close by. It will be difficult to put it on again, to hide his new face from the world, but… it's a face no one but Poe (and BB-8, to some extent) can see, for now. 

"I… have something to ask of you. Before… before we go back. In case I can't get time unsupervised with you." Kylo fiddles with the seam of one glove, trying to get it to sit right. "My mother…" 

"What do you want me to tell her?" Poe asks. It's something he's going to have to work out himself, too. That conversation may be a little further off, but it's moving closer, and – hopefully – it won't be long before he has to deal with it.

"The truth. Or… most of it. Tell her… I'm sorry. I'm sorry I… did what I did. Tell her I tried not to, but I…" It's something he should say himself, but he won't have the opportunity to, not for some time. "Just let her know I am trying to make things right. Please." 

Poe nods. "All right. Yes. I will tell her. And then, when you come through for us… she'll know it's true. She'll _know_ , Kylo."

"I hope so. She will likely forgive me. Han…" Han. Father. He can't even use the title for him, just the name. He shakes his head. "He likely won't be seen to tell anyway." Kylo clears his throat, grabs his helmet and puts it under one arm, by his hip. 

There aren't many more moments of freedom left, true freedom, and Kylo holds his other hand out for Poe to take. "If we never see one another again… you should know I die a free man, Poe. And I'd die a free man over live a slave any day." 

"We'll see each other again," Poe insists, his voice cracking just a little. The thought of the other man saying goodbye almost impossible to bear. "We…"

A thought takes him, suddenly: a memory of that morning in the sunshine, by the lake, when he'd promised the other man everything. When he'd promised him…

Poe reaches up, and slips off his dogtags, the light chain clinking a little as he lifts it up. He holds them where Kylo can see them for a moment, glinting in the moonlight, and then he takes the other man's now-gloved hand, pressing them into it.

"So you don't forget," he whispers. "I am _yours_."

Kylo Ren is not going to cry. His eyes are not misting up. It's the stupid planet's – something. Not… not… He slips the ballchain around his throat, tucking the metal deep underneath the fifteen thousand layers of clothing he wears. It hangs just below his throat, just above his heart. He smiles, and throws the helmet down to grab Poe's face all over again.

"I could never forget," he insists, and kisses his forehead with all the strength he has. "Not ever. I have nothing to give you in return, but your freedom and your droid. That, and the destruction of the world's greatest superweapon. I still feel it's an inadequate return…" 

"What you did to me tonight was more than enough," Poe answers, with a smile. "Though I'll take the rest, too."

And he curls in tighter, enjoying this whilst he still can. The closeness. The love. The soul-deep awareness of _belonging_.

It is everything.

But… the galaxy is calling. BB-8 whirls up to them, beeping away, announcing that the shuttle is inbound and will be here in moments, and…

…And there's a roar overhead, as a dark shape fills the sky.

"Oh good, they're early," Poe murmurs.

"Sooner I can get you to safety," Kylo says, sounding rueful. He pulls him in for one last, lingering kiss and then pushes himself in utterly. He takes over Poe's whole body, putting his mind off to one side to watch.

It must feel – in a way – like it had in the dream. Movements he couldn't control, able to watch and not to speak out. Kylo lets his fingers drag over Poe's torso as he dips to lift up his mask. It goes on with a _clickhiss_ and his back is already turned on his Pilot.

Long, sure strides away, with Poe tugged helplessly and submissively behind him, the light not there in his eyes, even though his mind is still ticking.

Kylo Ren stands just clear of the pod, and the shuttle lands close by. He waits for the hangar door to open, and the Stormtroopers to pile out.

"Sir!"

"You are commended on bringing the shuttle down in safety. Contact the fleet. Arrange for rendez-vous with the _Finalizer_." His tone is as it was before they landed; a slight sneer of arrogance, a knowledge that everyone else is below him. 

"Sir, yes, Sir." A snap of heels. "The prisoner?"

"Escort him to the holding cell. Tend to any pressing injuries. He is under my control and as such is not dangerous. Do not harm him further, as it may make my control more difficult to impose." Almost true. The Dark Lord of the Sith paces up and onto the shuttle. After only a moment's pause, BB-8 follows suit. 

Were it not for Kylo's presence in his mind, his hold over it, Poe knows he wouldn't be able to stop himself resisting the stormtroopers when they seize hold of him. He _hates_ it when they lay hands on him. And it is – despite the plan – very, very hard not to feel worried by all this. By being back in the First Order's grasp.

He trusts Kylo, yes. Completely. But he does not trust _them_.

Two of them lead him onto the ship. They don't hurt him – they're not idiots – though they're not exactly gentle as they haul him through to the little holding cell near the back of the shuttle. A rough clank of metal, and they cuff his wrists together, then fix them to the wall, up above his head.

Another of the troopers comes in and checks him over, but other than the rapidly-healing wound on his arm – that he's hardly aware of anymore – there isn't much serious damage to be found. Mostly… the lightest cuts. Strange little bruises. A half-healed mark on his neck, that makes his eyes flicker just slightly when the trooper touches it.

And then, satisfied he's sufficiently intact, the trooper withdraws, and the door clunks shut.

And Poe Dameron is alone.

Kylo doesn't need to subdue Poe when no one else is around him, so when he is convinced it's fine, he unwinds the control he has over him by degrees. It's also difficult to maintain that level of manipulation for that long, over a distance, with no eye-contact. It's a relief to stop doing it. 

" _We will jump to hyperspace momentarily. The_ Finalizer _will meet us shortly after. Are you okay?_ "

Oh, but that is still weird. Even now.

" _I've been better, but I'll do,_ " Poe thinks, in answer. " _They didn't hurt me. Are **you** OK?_ "

" _I am… fine. It is strange to wear these clothes again. Better than not, so they do not see my face._ " 

A pause, a pregnant one, full of unspoken need. " _I miss you already_."

The words are so very good to hear. Or whatever it is you do when your boyfriend talks to you in your head. " _I miss you too. I kept wanting to criticise the way they manhandled me. They don't do it right._ "

" _Poe Dameron, if you dare get aroused by my minions I will personally see to it that you are dressed in the scratchiest, most uncomfortable underwear the First Order has_." 

" _Hey, I said they did it **wrong**!_ " the pilot insists. You know, wrong? Like this conversation…

" _Yes, but if they'd done it right, would you have been whimpering along our bond to me about the big, burly troopers?_ " Mostly teasing. Slightly jealous. Very possessive. 

" _No. I would have been complimenting you on your staff training programmes,_ " Poe answers. He has the ability to make even his mental voice sound dry as he does.

A pause. " _Do they recruit Pilots with smooth tongues, or do you gravitate towards it?_ " 

" _I gravitate towards it. I gravitate **hard**._ " Everything about this is wrong. Gloriously, gloriously wrong.

" _If you keep this up I'm going to order the ship to D'Qar and pretend you stole it_." 

" _Would you? It would save us so much trouble. And I do have a history of stealing ships from the First Order._ "

" _You are a veritable monster. But you know if we do, then blowing up the Starkiller will be next to impossible. So choose, Dameron: the galaxy, or me blowing you off under your X-Wing_." 

" _I already chose. One, then the other. I'm a patient man. Sometimes. We'll do the galaxy-saving part first. And then… I'm going to hold you to the X-Wing thing…_ "

Why his current predicament makes him so daring is hard to say. Well. Hard, and also easy. But, either way, it does.

" _We're going to need to stop this conversation before my robes do nothing to conceal the fact that I'm ready to fuck you through the bulkhead wall, Poe_." Kylo's reluctant to admit that, but damn, it's getting hard to focus. 

" _If it wouldn't give us away, I'd beg you to. I'm chained to it right now. It's very distracting._ "

" _Galaxy, or sexual favours? Again. Stop it. I have to face Hux in a minute. I doubt that man has seen an aroused Human being since he was conceived_." 

" _Forgive me for not being **too** concerned about the illustrious General's feelings,_ " Poe thinks, that dry mental tone very much back again. " _Or lack thereof._ "

" _It's more that trying to keep a straight face – even under this mask – when he prances about and all I can think about is your ass, mouth, hair, face, smile, laugh… it's not going to be easy. I'm going to have to think about your ex-boyfriends just to find enough rage to emanate_." 

" _You could also think about when I stole that TIE fighter,_ " Poe suggests. Partly for effect, but mostly because he doesn't want to distract the other man by actually talking about his ex-boyfriends.

" _Did you flirt with the Stormtrooper? FN-2187?_ " 

" _Finn? A little, yes. He was cute, what can I say? We didn't exactly get much time to talk, though. Too busy with the whole escaping-in-a-stolen-TIE-fighter-thing. Shame your people had to shoot it down. I was going to land it anyway…_ "

" _Should I be worried about your desire to steal men from the First Order? Are you intending to work your wiles on Hux, next?_ " He almost says Snoke, but he stops himself.

" _By the Force, no. I have standards, Kylo. Besides… I also have **you**._ "

" _Good to know. I was going to station all-female troopers on you_." 

" _I can still flirt with those. I wouldn't want to take it anywhere, but they don't have to know that whilst they're breaking me out…_ "

" _Is there anything you don't attempt to have chemistry with? Droids? Banthas? Should I just put you in a box on a level all to yourself? Because I will, Pilot._ " 

" _If it meant you come to see me more often, I'll take that risk._ " Probably not the most helpful answer, Dameron. Nor is following it up with, " _Are we there yet?_ "

" _This is why we spent most of our time fucking when we weren't solving ancient Sith puzzles_ ," Kylo complains. " _I hate you, you know_." 

" _Well, what else were we supposed to do down there? Talk about the weather? 'Oh look, it's hot again.' Besides. We solved them all, so I think we used our time well._ " A beat. " _And I know. I hate you, too._ "

" _We are, however, nearly docked with the_ Finalizer, _so I should likely let you behave as just a broken prisoner when we arrive. I'll keep in contact as much as possible, but I also need to… shield. From Snoke_."

" _I know._ " Instantly more serious, more careful. " _You can do this, Kylo. I know you can._ "

" _We can do this_ ," Kylo corrects him. " _Stay strong for me, Poe. I may need you to save me again, before too long_." And all of a sudden the presence in his mind is gone. 

The emptiness hurts, and not in a good way. But Poe knows he has to stay resolute.

They both do.

***

"Lord Ren, where is the Resistance base located?"

Kylo blinks at the welcome from General Hux. He's been gone almost a week, and that's how he says 'hello'? Admittedly they've always had an antagonistic working relationship, but he at least expected some lead in.

And it is also when he realises he's left a fatal, terrible flaw in his plan. 

"The location of the base will not be needed, when I locate Skywalker…" It sounds weak, even to his own ears.

"The Supreme Leader is keen to wipe them out. If there is no Resistance, there will be no support for Skywalker to return to." The other man's eyes narrow, peering down the bridge of his upturned nose. "Or do you not have it?"

"It was not necessary to extract the information."

"Not necessary, or not possible?"

Kylo's blood burns at the insinuation, the implications in his words. He could very well have dragged it from Poe, even before Eigengrau. The fact that he knows it from Poe's own admission… Hux really has no idea of his power, does he? His fist cracks inside his glove, the old rage curling nastily in his gut.

"Would you like me to demonstrate my abilities on you, perhaps, General? So that you can understand the power of the Dark Side?"

He won't do to Hux what Snoke did to him, but he has no issue at all with a little mental roughing up. Especially when someone is all but begging for it. It would be a different kind of pleasure compared to doing it to Poe, a lesser enjoyment, but still something to revel in. 

"You know the Supreme Leader has forbidden that, _Ren_. So a demonstration of your abilities on our actual prisoner, the one you claim to have under your control, would be more in order."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Kylo can pretend he didn't ask for the base's location yet because it wasn't needed, but now… now it is. The loyal servant of the First Order, of Supreme Leader Snoke, would rip the co-ordinates from Poe's skull.

And he has every suspicion that the first kill for Hux's superweapon would be whatever planet Poe yells out in pain.

"Very well. Have the prisoner transferred to the interrogation suite, but have no other work on him. Your troopers had no idea how to extract information from him the last time they tried. It would be a laughable waste of time to allow them to maul him with their clumsy methods once more."

Insulting his staff always makes Hux bristle, so Kylo takes every opportunity to do it. 

"He is already there, Lord Ren."

Asshole. That anger making it hard to think again, worry for his lover and the mistreatment he would be suffering. He'd have tried to sneak him out before any further attempt was made to break Poe, but now… now there will be eyes on him at all times. Hux must either suspect, or be close to it. 

With glee, the older man continues: "I will enjoy watching how your methods are… _superior_. The Starkiller is almost complete. Once the final preparations are done, we will have our first target."

"Let us hope your troopers are more adept at making machinery than breaking people, then, General."

***

In the low lighting of the _Finalizer's_ interrogation suite, Poe closes his eyes and silently counts to ten. For the fifth time.

He is trying very, very hard to stay calm. One minute, he was sitting in a holding cell, staring at blank walls and attempting to keep his mind occupied, and the next, a pair of Stormtroopers burst in and dragged him out. He'd known something was wrong then, but it was only when the door opened on _this_ place – again – that the full weight of it really hit home.

And now, he is alone, strapped back into this chair, fighting down slow waves of panic. Something has gone wrong, he's sure of it. Perhaps their plan has been found out – unlikely, but possible – or perhaps General Hux has decided to take matters into his own hands. Poe knows he can hold out a long time if the troopers come back in to work on him – he's done it before, after all – but no one can hold on forever. Even if they have had some extremely good recent practice at managing their own pain thresholds.

…OK don't think about that now…

Not good. Not good at all.

Does Kylo know what's happening to him? Poe tries to think as loudly as he can, not remotely sure if it will even work, desperately attempting to attract his lover's attention. Through the Force. Which he, himself, does not have.

" _Kylo. Kylo. **Help**._ "

" _I'm coming,_ " is the mental reply. " _Hux decided to up the ante. He's going to watch. I need you to come up with a diversion base, one that used to be used and could well have been evacuated. Give it up relatively early on, but not so fast it looks fake. We need to make this as real as we can, because he's going to be watching on the surveillance cameras. But it's me. It's me under the mask. Be a little afraid, but not deep down_." 

Fuck. Fuck. Good that Kylo seems to be OK. Very very bad at the rest. Poe resists the urge to count to ten in his head again – because he knows the other man will be able to hear him – and instead tries to focus on the situation.

It is not easy. Whilst he would be more than happy for his lover to torture him right out of his mind, he is not at _all_ happy about the idea of having the illustrious General for an audience. Nor is he happy about having to give up another base, even somewhere small and out of use.

He tries to think of one. They don't exactly have many. And it can't be on an otherwise populated planet, given the very high probability that Hux's response to the intel will be to blow the entire planet apart with the Starkiller.

Poe goes cold at the thought. If he gets this wrong, there could be countless deaths. And they'll all be on him.

Fuck.

" _I'll do my best,_ " he answers, instead. Knowing that some of his other thoughts might well filter in along with it. " _Don't be afraid to hurt me. I can take it. We… we need to make this look good._ "

" _Just remember how I act, what I do, what I say… it's for the greater good. It's not **me**. It's the me they think I am. I'll go as easy on you as I dare_." It's not going to be fun, or simple. Kylo knows that Hux has watched him on several occasions, so he can't deviate from his normal behaviour. 

There's silence over the link they share as Kylo responds to Hux's not-really-small-talk for the rest of their walk, and then he snaps his spine straight outside the door. Ready, ready to…

…it whooshes open in front of him, then closes swiftly behind him. His mask is the same as before, but some of his robes have been replaced, making him look almost as he did the last time they were in this situation.

Kylo Ren. Master of the Knights of Ren. Supreme Leader Snoke's favoured protégé. Dark Side Force user. Dark Lord of the Sith. Enforcer. Interrogator. Soldier.

Not Poe Dameron's half-Light, half-Dark lover. Or… somewhere, underneath all the layers. Hidden deep.

" _Comfortable_?" he asks. 

From the moment Kylo told him what was about to happen, Poe has been worrying that he won't be able to do this. That he won't be able to act convincingly, keep his true feelings hidden. He doesn't have a mask to hide behind: he's just him, and he's not exactly one for concealing his emotions.

And yet… the instant the other man steps in, the whole facade just snaps into place. Poe remembers the last time. Remembers the _first_ time. Remembers… and his mind sets off running with it long before the panic in his heart can overtake.

He leans in as much as he can, bound like this. Defiant. "I've been better," he responds, dryly. "I'm surprised to see you again. I thought you must have had enough of me by now."

"Believe me, if any of the minions who dog my every step were in the slightest bit competent, you wouldn't be seeing me again." This is actually true in many senses. Kylo's definitely glad that his barb towards the watching Hux can also be their defence. 

Long, slow steps in, and he stands almost military-precise in front of Poe. "You know what I am here for." 

Dark eyes follow him as he moves, Poe never once looking away. This might all be a facade, and their act a collusion, but it doesn't change what's coming, and the lingering fear colours his every last little response.

"An apology?" he retorts. "For what you did to me on that sun-baked rock of a planet?"

A hand rising, pulling Poe's body forwards in the restraints, then slamming him back with full force into the chair. A pressure, unrelenting and keen. "Your attempts at humour are unbecoming. Or do you enjoy it when I hurt you, and want more?"

Dangerous territory, but the words are out before he can help himself. He has always been a very impulsive, emotionally-driven interrogator. 

Fuck, but that hurts. Poe closes his eyes for a moment, slightly dizzy from the impact, trying to keep his thoughts level. The only saving grace is that he manages not to cry out more than a little, which is somewhat vital, given that if he _does_ cry out too much, there's every risk he'll sound like he _is_ enjoying himself.

He is not. But he almost – almost – could be.

"What I would enjoy is for you to leave me alone for five minutes," he says. "That would no doubt be long enough for another of your oh-so-loyal troops to have a crisis of conscience and come break me out. And I'd love it even more if I got to make off with another of your _frighteningly_ fragile little starfighters in the process."

"And we would just shoot you down all over again," Kylo responds, and steps in closer. His hand is still lifted, still ready to do more. 

"I can leave you… if you give me the location of your Resistance base of operations. You need only tell me where it is, and all of this will be over." And it will, in more ways than one, Kylo thinks to himself. 

"I won't give them up," Poe insists. There's a slight – honest – tremor in his voice as he speaks. "I will die before I tell you a damned _thing_ , you sick son of a bitch."

"You and I both know that's untrue. Or do you forget all those things you screamed out for me on that planet?" It's unfair to do this, but they have to keep the ruse up, and the ruse has to be that… well. Kylo tortured him for information, and possibly for his own, sick amusement, too. "All those confessions? All those secrets?"

There's a building pressure in the air, and he pulls Poe's head closer, his mind reaching into the other's. Forcefully, but nowhere near as hard as he had in the nightmare. Just enough for it to thud, enough for him to know he still has control of himself on some level, but that his thoughts are no longer kept behind barred doors. 

Poe's cheeks flush a little at the insinuations. He can't help it. He knows the implication works perfectly, but it plays so close to the line that he almost can't remember where the line _is_ , anymore.

"That was different," he insists, his voice shaking as he tries to fight the presence in his mind. "And I meant what I told you then: you can do _whatever_ you want to me, but I won't betray my friends."

"You will, you will. Everyone always does. Self-preservation is the highest goal of any organism… and even if you _did_ hold out, you can never shield your mind from me, can you?" He bears in harder and harder, making Poe's heartbeat echo in his ears. 

It's… it's not quite arousing. Not… right. He can tell the edge to the interaction, how – without a witness – this could go very differently. Could leave Poe screaming in pleasure. Could have him a sobbing wreck. 

He doesn't want to do it. He doesn't want to inflict the pain, but he knows he has to. He knows it has to be believable enough for Hux to get off their back, so he can put Poe on a ship and get him away from the First Order's wicked grasp. He has to…

"Tell me about Giderra Prime. When I ask you for a location, that's what you think of." It isn't. It so isn't, but Kylo knows what he's doing right now, and it's hideously unfair and he'll apologise profusely, later. "Is that where they are?" 

" _ **Fuck. You**_ ," is Poe's response to that, instinctive and filled with soul-deep anger. A reaction so honest, he doesn't have to think about it.

Anything but that. Anything but the planet where his mother died, all those years ago. Hearing the name makes him feel like he's been sucker-punched in the gut, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. Like the whole world has gone dark.

"Get out of my head. Get _out_. You've taken enough. You don't get the Resistance… and you _don't get that_ …"

"I already _have_ it," Kylo answers, knowing he's crossed a line, hoping Poe will later forgive him. A small destruction, a contained betrayal, in order to keep him safe and alive. It is one of those decisions you just have to make, have to take on the nose. Have to agree to muddy your soul, to keep others clean. 

Maker, but he hopes that Poe will forgive him, later.

"The Empire. They routed a large number of Rebel forces, didn't they… and after that… the base where the limping, lame birds flew to… that's where the Resistance are, now…" This is all a complete fabrication, of course, using the emotional response he's hijacked to cover over the lie, to make it believable, to sell it to Hux (and to Snoke). 

Kylo's fingers actually touch Poe's head, and he slides the last bit inside of him.

It isn't all pain. Right now, in an interrogation, it could go one of two ways. He could either snap them bloodily, or he could hold them gently so their pieces fell apart in his hands. He opts to pretend for the second one, knowing he's got enough of a buffer around them to do what he intends next.

" _I'm sorry, love. I needed you to snap for me. I'm so sorry. Just give up somewhere no one will get hurt. Give it up, and I can cease this blasphemy. I'm so sorry. Give in, give in, but not to the Order. Give in to me. I will keep you safe, Poe. I will always keep you safe_." 

In many ways, Poe thinks a sharp, bloody snap might be easier. It was easier last time. There is a lot to be said for the ease of having your mind just broken cleanly in two by the will of someone stronger.

This… is so much worse. Likely a great deal more convincing, yes, but so much worse.

" _I forgive you, I forgive you,_ " over and over in his head, needing the other man to know. Scared he won't have much longer, after he speaks.

"…E-Edrast," Poe chokes out, closing his eyes. "Edrast, in the Tylorn system…"

"See… that wasn't so hard, was it?" Kylo coos, his voice full of a disdain he doesn't feel. A disdain, instead, that is directed to the red-headed bastard who made him do this to his beloved. "It will all be over, soon. We'll let you see the results, the aftermath of the destruction. You'll know they're gone, and that you lost." 

Which, subtly, is Kylo's reaffirmation that Poe _hasn't_. He hasn't given anyone up. Hasn't doomed anyone at all. The presence in his mind smoothes over the jagged sensations, trying to ease Poe softly into unconsciousness. 

" _I'm getting you out of here, Poe. I'm getting you home. You did so well. It's over, now. The pain is over. I'm going to save **you** for a change…_ " And then he pushes him all the way into unconsciousness, bereft of sleep.


	22. Liberator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday, readers! We left you on a bit of a cliffhanger last time. Have some closure...
> 
> ...also, how do you _feel_ about cliffhangers in general..?

When Poe comes to, he's back in his cell. His head hurts, his body hurts, his _heart_ hurts, and he's midway through his seventeenth subconscious fantasy about what he's going to do to General Hux if he ever gets his hands on the man.

He doesn't blame Kylo for what happened. He does, however, blame Hux. For every damn bit.

For some time – he isn't sure how long – he lies on the hard bunk, on his side, back to the wall. Keeping his eyes on the door, in case it opens again. He pulls his knees in a little closer and allows himself a moment – just a moment – of pain. Of longing. Of wishing what went on in the interrogation suite could have gone down a very different way.

Even with Kylo – and BB-8 – elsewhere on the ship, Poe is very, very alone out here. And, right now, he feels it.

And… _why did he have to mention Giderra Prime?_ Poe understands, rationally, why Kylo did, and he knows that – if the First Order has paid sufficient attention to its intel – anyone watching would likely work out precisely why Kylo would use it against him. But… _it hurts. Deep down. It hurts._

Plus, it makes him think of the last test, back on Eigengrau. And it would help if he did _not_ think anything of the sort right now, and…

There's a hiss, and the cell door clunks open. Poe jumps up a little, staring at it, hoping against hope that Kylo might be on the other side. But…

…No. Oh no. It isn't Kylo at all. It's Captain Phasma, resplendent in her silver Stormtrooper's uniform, dark cloak over one shoulder. This is bad. If he was being taken back to the interrogation suite, or worse, Poe is confident it would be grunt-level troopers who were sent to get him. So for Phasma herself to be walking in… it can't be good. Has she come to rough him up? To question him on her own time? _Worse?_

The trick is not to show fear. And… also not to suddenly remember the mental conversation you had with your boyfriend whilst chained up in the cell in his shuttle, about flirting with his Stormtroopers, regardless of gender.

Still half-lying on the bunk, trying not to appear target-shaped, Poe looks up. And up. _And up_.

He smiles. "Aren't you a little tall for a Stormtrooper?"

The Stormtrooper's head cants to one side, and then hands go up and find the clasps, pulling the helmet clean off. A tousle of dark hair spills out, and the _man_ inside glares.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a Stormtrooper who is as _tall_ as me?" Kylo grumbles, and awkwardly shifts his weight from side to side. "Plus… this hideous codpiece was made for someone whose reproductive organs are handily tucked away. _Mine don't do that_." 

Poe's face breaks into an expression as radiant as a sun, a mixture of amusement and joy and hope all wrapped into one. He scrambles up, decides that if Kylo will risk taking the helmet off, it's safe to act, and then throws his arms around the other man.

It is difficult to hug a person wearing that much body armour. This will not stop him trying.

"Don't I know it…" he says, with a wicked flicker in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

Kylo does his best to hug him back, but the stupid joints on this ridiculous suit are just… not working with his body. At all. He feels trapped and uncomfortable and beyond pissed off. Still, he takes the embrace with an audible hiss of relief. 

"I'm… fine. I just needed to get you to safety as soon as is possible. I'm…" Sorry. So sorry. He's glad Poe doesn't seem to want to hold it against him just yet, and when he pulls back from the hug, he steals a quick, hungry kiss. 

"You need to be back to the real base as soon as possible. I've loaded schematics and a schedule of attack into BB-8. It's onboard the TIE-Interceptor I've commandeered for you. I… assume you can pilot that back to them?" 

Poe grips his hands, and nods. "Of course. I can fly anything. And I would _love_ to get my hands on one of those."

 _I'd rather you were in it with me, though._ And not just because he's going to be lacking a gunner.

Focus, Dameron. This is the plan. It is a good plan. It may not be a happy one, but it is a good one.

"How do we get to it?"

Right. Plan. "I have disabled all the cameras en route. I will also make sure no one looks too long in our direction, so that Captain Phasma is not, actually, interrogated. If it was proven she didn't do this, then suspicion would go further afield. But I needed the slightest cover, in case anyone recalled seeing me…" 

It feels so wrong, standing like this. Kylo wonders how the other trooper – FN-2187 – went about this. He doubts they spoke before the break out, and he still… no. Box that away. "It will be a sanctioned departure, until you hit hyperspace. So no one will fire on you. I've also disabled all the tracking on the craft."

Fly he might not be able to, tinker… that is a talent he learned from his father. He rarely has need to put those skills into practice, but they've come in handy today. 

"And then… then we don't speak again until after the Starkiller. I'll have to remain undercover for as long as possible. I hope that the destruction of the base will mean I am summoned to Snoke, so I can kill him." 

Fuck.

Poe knows this last element is inevitable, essential. Inescapable. But it also hurts. Neither of them has really stopped since the morning they went into the final test, down on Eigengrau, and now they're about to be pulled apart for days. Maybe longer.

"I know," he says, softly. Sadly. Allowing himself this moment of emotion before he has to focus. "I know. And even after we take it down…"

Fuck. It's going to be ages before they see each other again.

He grips Kylo's hands tightly. "I love you."

"I know," Kylo echoes. "And I love you, too. And if there was another way to do this – to save everyone – I would do it in a heartbeat. But I… I made half of this mess. It's time I cleaned the galaxy up after myself."

A chrome-gloved hand cups Poe's cheek, the distance impossible and frustrating. "I won't be able to talk over such a great distance, I don't think. Not as easily. My… my mother said she and Uncle Luke could communicate some flashes, but it will possibly be one-sided." Kylo's tongue slips out over his lips, as he tries to fight down the wave of regret.

"I'll think of you every day, Poe. And I won't rest until I'm back in your arms. I swear to you." But they really should be going, before someone gets the cameras fixed. He leans in – one last, lingering press of head to head – and then pulls back and slams the helmet back on.

'Phasma' once more. 

Focus. Focus. Don't lose it now. Poe takes a deep breath, trying to stay in the moment and not dwell on the rest of it, and then he holds out his hands, letting Kylo lightly cuff them together in front of him, the latches left loose – so he can slip them at a moment's notice – but enough to appear convincing to anyone who looks.

And… they set off, heading into the increasingly-familiar corridors of the _Finalizer_. It is not difficult for Poe to keep up the facade of a prisoner out here: the cold, grey corridors more than help with that, and even out of a cell, he still feels trapped by them. He can't imagine how anyone would want to live their whole life like this. He may love his ships, love to fly, but he also loves the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet, and the brush of the breeze against his skin.

He thinks of home, of Yavin 4. And… of D'Qar, its secrets safe. The place where – if all goes according to plan – he'll be returning soon.

Yes. Yes. Focus on that.

The blaster pointed idly at him is enough reason for anyone who glances more than slightly at them, and Kylo-Phasma takes the quickest, neatest route to one of the other hangars. (Not the one that still has scorch marks from the _last_ escape attempt.) 

He feels like he's walking to his death, giving Poe up and back to the universe, back to the skies, and no longer holding his Light all to himself. It's harder than he thought it would be, even knowing they're bound together. Knowing that Poe won't just run and run and never come back. He trusts him with everything he has, now, enough to send him back to Leia Organa with a broken confession on his lips. 

Into the corner, where the TIE-Interceptor is moored. Kylo has to barrier them more, here, so no one sees the tall Stormtrooper helping the Resistance Pilot slip his cuffs and climb into the cockpit. Inside, BB-8 whirls excitedly at Poe's return, chattering how it missed its master, how the other master was good and kind and how the other master gave it a map and a plan of attack.

The droid likely knows Poe is aware of all of this, but it wants to make the other know it feels hopeful, excited, and pleased, too.

"Wait until I'm almost out of the hangar," Kylo asks. "I'll watch you leave, then punch the hyperdrive, and then I'll make myself scarce." 

Poe nods. "All right. And…" By the Force, do not get choked up. "…You watch yourself, OK? I'll see you soon. I love you. And nothing in the galaxy – not even the whole galaxy combined – will keep me from you for long."

He grips the other man's hands tight. Not wanting to let go.

"Oh, you need to go before I try to work out if this damn codpiece has robbed me of all manhood for the day," the taller man complains. "Poe, _please_. I need to know you're safe. Nothing else matters more to me. Nothing."

BB-8 tells them it will keep Poe safe, and Kylo actually… pats it. Awkwardly. 

Stupid helmet, it makes being upset even less comfortable than his own. "Go. Before I change my mind and do something selfish. Go, and… May the Force be with you." 

Tearing himself away from this is nearly impossible, but Poe knows he has to. He nods, keeping hold of the other man's hands for just one more moment, and then he – very reluctantly – lets go.

"Stand well back," he says, grinning despite it all. "Just in case I decide to fly this thing like I stole it…"

He won't, not really. He'll fly it like a sensible First Order pilot, so no one notices until he punches the hyperdrive. But… anything that makes him smile is good, right now.

And… this is it. Kylo – still in guise as Phasma – retreats from the ship and moves back, leaving Poe and BB-8 in the Interceptor.

"You ready for this, buddy?" Poe asks, strapping on his flight harness.

BB-8 beeps in agreement, sounding almost excited.

Within seconds, his departure instructions come through from the _Finalizer's_ command centre. Poe engages the power, keeping the thrust low as he undocks from the mooring lines and turns slowly, angling towards the gaping mouth of the hangar bay, and the beckoning blackness beyond.

He wants to look back. Wants to look for Kylo one last time.

But he can't. All he can do is start moving the ship forwards, gliding smoothly out of the bay, still carefully following instructions from the command centre. The unnatural light of the hangar slowly blends to dark as the TIE Interceptor slides out into space, and Poe has to fight the urge to punch the hyperdrive all at once, knowing he needs to keep his departure subtle.

They'll notice, of course. But, for once, he doesn't want _everyone_ to see.

The controls are… familiar. And not. And… _don't think about that_.

" _Beta Two, your patrol route is confirmed._ "

That's his cue. Poe whispers a silent plea to the Force to keep Kylo safe, and then… he engages the hyperdrive.

The black of space streaks to dazzling white… and he's away.

***

The hyperspace flight is a long one. Or… it certainly feels as much to Poe. The TIE Interceptor may be better equipped than the standard Fighters, but it still leaves a lot to be desired as far as comfort is concerned. He sits at the controls, watching hyperspace streak past, occasionally talking to BB-8 but, for the most part… alone with his thoughts.

It is, really, the first true lull he's had since he went to Jakku, and he's got rather a lot to process.

He does not need to process Kylo. He knows exactly where things stand – or kneel – there. There is no question in his mind. But… how this affects the rest of his life, now _that_ he does need to consider. What are his friends going to say? What will Snap say?

What will General Organa say?

Poe shuts his eyes for a moment. This was so much easier when it was just Kylo and he, trapped on the planet of the weird Sith proving grounds. Cut off from the rest of the galaxy. Free to just… _be_. And now…

All of a sudden, the destination alert sounds, and the hyperdrive disengages, allowing the ship to slide slowly back into normal space. And there, filling his field of view, is D'Qar, green and lovely and _safe_.

He smiles.

And then the proximity alarms go off. He's known that as soon as an enemy ship appeared on the Resistance base's scope, they'd scramble a squad to intercept, but from how fast they're coming up, they must have already been out on manoeuvres. He squawks the radio at once, making a call across all local channels.

"Blue Squad, Blue Squad, this is Black Leader. I'm in the TIE Interceptor! I repeat, this is Poe Dameron, aboard the incoming TIE Interceptor. Hold your fire!"

"Dameron?!" exclaims the incredulous voice of Snap Wexley, over the comm. "You're alive!"

"Certainly feels that way," Poe replies, breathing out in relief and grinning from ear to ear. He's home. He is _home_.

"What the hell happened to you?" comes Jess Pava's voice. "After Jakku, we thought…"

"It's a long story," Poe answers. "Tell you all about it later over a few beers. Or some of the Corellian good stuff that Snap has stashed under his bunk."

"Hey, man, stop giving away my secrets!" Snap protests, easily. "Hang tight. I'll contact ground control and get them to find you a space on the landing pad."

"Copy that. It's good to be back."

***

Once his approach is cleared, Poe brings the Interceptor down through the clouds of D'Qar, swooping in to land on the edge of the Resistance base, surrounded by a rather possessive little cluster of X-Wings. Even like this, he can tell how glad they are to see him alive.

He wonders what they'll think when they know the whole story.

He cracks open the hatch of the Interceptor, pulling it wide enough for BB-8 to follow him down, but pauses, first, before he steps out, letting the sunlight fall across his face.

It might not be Yavin 4, but it's definitely the next best thing.

Moments later, the other pilots come running, and he charges towards them without a thought for the obvious state he's in, racing across the duracrete ground and letting Snap Wexley wrap him into a very involved hug, complete with a great deal of back-slapping. The other man pulls away again after a long moment, gripping Poe's shoulders and staring at him in delight.

"You're alive, you son of a bitch," he says, very warmly. "I still don't quite believe it."

Poe gives an easy shrug. "Believe it, Wexley. I'm just that good."

The others crowd in on him, and he gets hugged by pretty much everyone, no one really asking anything until they've all had their turn. Once the last person has stepped back – Jess, giving him a playful punch to the arm as she does – it falls to Snap to ask the crucial question.

"Poe… what in the Force happened to you?"

It's a fair question. He's wearing a semi-intact shirt that is stained with blood, and several of the marks Kylo left on him are still very much visible. And that's to say nothing of the fact that he's been missing for a good week after a known First Order attack, which means they probably _did_ think he was dead.

"I told you… it's a long story," he answers, carefully. "I'll explain it to all of you, I promise, but first… I need to see General Organa. Immediately."

Some of the pilots look a little disappointed at having to wait, but they catch the urgency in his tone and don't argue, instead leading him down into the main control bunker at once, BB-8 trailing along behind them.

The bunker itself is a hub of activity – his unexpected arrival having obviously made an impression – and a whole selection of familiar faces turn his way as he hurries in, everyone else in his wake, eyes searching the room for…

He sees her after a moment, standing close to the central table. General Leia Organa, leader of the Resistance, hero of the Rebellion.

Mother of his boyfriend.

Deep breath. Keep it together.

"Poe," Leia starts out, moving closer when she sees him, obvious happiness in her eyes. "It's such a relief to have you back. After what happened on Jakku, we thought… we _feared_ … we had lost you."

"That's understandable, General," Poe replies.

"The map," Leia pushes. "The map to Luke… did you find it?"

That, and so much more. "I did, yes, but… General, I need to talk to you in private. I promise I'll explain everything, but… there are things you need to know."

His tone obviously gets the General's attention, and she nods. "All right. Come with me."

They head through the command bunker together, stepping through a door at the back that leads into the room Leia uses as her personal office. It's small and neat, subtle without being impersonal. She waves him into one of the chairs, but Poe remains standing and – perhaps in subconscious echo – Leia does too.

"Poe, what happened?" she asks. There's concern in her voice, now, and he wonders if she can sense some of his emotions through the Force.

"What I'm going to tell you… will come as something of a shock," he starts off. Realising he's doing this. Realising it's actually happening now. "Please, just… hear me out."

Leia nods, expression tight-lipped.

"All right. So I went to Jakku, as you asked. I met with Lor San Tekka at Tuanul, and he did indeed give me the map. He told me… it would begin to make things right. But, mere moments later, the First Order attacked. I don't know how they found us. I think it was Tekka they were after, but I can't be sure. They obliterated the village. Everyone else was killed. I tried to stop it, tried to help them, but there were just too many Stormtroopers. And… Tekka himself was murdered, by…"

This is where it starts to get awkward. Poe takes a deep breath.

"…by Kylo Ren. By your son."

The horror in Leia's eyes flares, clear as the day, and she puts a hand over her mouth for a moment. "I see," she says, regaining her composure. "I see."

"I couldn't stop it," Poe goes on. "I tried, but… I couldn't. And then…"

He doesn't quite know how to explain the next part. The blaster-bolt. The feeling of being thrown to his knees. Kylo, looking at him from behind that black mask…

"…The First Order captured me." Keep it simple, for now. "They took me back to the _Finalizer_. I was…"

Leia looks down. "They tortured you." He knows she went through it too, once. Not the same, but… enough to know. Enough to know the look, the drop in the voice. The sense of violation.

Poe meets her eyes. "Yes. The troopers roughed me up pretty bad, but they couldn't get anything out of me. I wouldn't tell them where the map was. I'd given it to BB-8 during the attack and told him to run, and I knew they didn't have him. I thought I held all the cards. And then…"

He trails off again. He doesn't want to tell Leia this part. Doesn't want to inflict it on her.

"…Then my son came to question you," she reasons, softly.

Of course she just knows. Of course. "That's right. He… interrogated me with the aid of the Force. Pulled the truth from my mind."

"I see. He hurt you." Statement, not question.

"Yes."

"I see. And then?"

"And then… after he'd gone, a Stormtrooper broke me out. FN-2187. Finn, now. He wanted to escape too, wanted to get away from the First Order, so we stole a TIE fighter together and made a run for it. We got out, but we were shot down over Jakku. We both ejected, but separately, and when I woke up alone in the desert, I couldn't find him. I still don't know what happened to him. But as for me… it wasn't long before I found BB-8, still wandering around among the dunes. We holed up for a few hours – I was exhausted and BB-8 insisted – and then… then the First Order came after us again. They recaptured me, and they took BB-8 too."

Leia nods. She still looks so calm, and Poe wonders how she does that. "And my son compelled you to make BB-8 hand over the map?"

Always at least two steps ahead. "He did, yes. He wanted to go after your brother himself, so he took the map – which is incomplete, General, I'm sorry – and combined it with data from the Empire's old memory banks. With that, he was able to identify where the map led."

Now Leia's expression cracks a little. "Did he find my brother? Did he… has something happened to Luke?"

Poe shakes his head. "No. No. Something else happened. There was some kind of failsafe built into the map. A false version, leading to a different planet. BB-8 found it, and it was that map Kylo used."

The General's expression flickers a little at Poe's use of Kylo's first name, but she doesn't comment yet.

"Where did it lead?" she asks, instead.

"It lead to a planet not on any of the charts," Poe explains. "A planet that, eventually, we learned is called Eigengrau. Your son took me and BB-8 there, along with a detachment of Stormtroopers. When we got close to the planet, some kind of defence system activated, and we were shot down. Kylo, BB-8 and I managed to land in the escape pod, and the shuttle eventually ditched some distance off. The place we landed… it was a huge, ancient temple. We couldn't get a distress signal out, and there was no one else there. To start off with, something even blocked Kylo's connection to the Force. And… though the two of us weren't exactly on friendly terms, we opted to team up, to survive. We began to explore. And…"

"Poe," Leia cuts in, carefully. "You keep calling my son by his first name. His… new first name."

Poe drops his head a moment. How is he supposed to do this? General Organa is his leader, his idol, his Force-be-damned _hero_. How is he supposed to look her in the eyes and tell her he's sleeping with her son? This is not a conversation you are meant to have with your boyfriend's mother!

"…I know," he concedes. "I…" He tenses unconsciously, instinct making him draw himself up into something closer to attention. "…That afternoon, in the jungle… he… we…"

Oh, this is ridiculous. He should just say it and be done.

"…General. I am sleeping with your son."

There we go.

For a moment, Leia stares at him, stunned. And then, despite it all, she smiles. "You are?" she says, almost quietly, and he can see the hope in her eyes.

"Yes. I am."

"I see. Why do you look so worried?"

"Because… he's Kylo Ren, and that comes with certain implications! And… and… General, he's _your_ son."

"Yes, he is. And, what? You're 'just a pilot'? Poe… you know how special you are, don't you?"

He blushes somewhat fiercely, and can't meet her eyes.

"You must have done something significant to catch his attention," Leia remarks – almost muses – with a little twinkle in her expression.

"…You could say that," Poe manages, blushing even more.

"So… the two of you are still together? Present-tense?"

"Yes. Yes, we are."

Leia smiles again. The fact that she hasn't shouted him out of the room helps a lot. He doesn't even know why he thought she would, but… it was a genuine worry.

"How long were you on this planet?" she asks next.

Good. This part is easier. "Five days," Poe answers. "Five days and five nights." Apparently not so easy. And seriously, he needs to stop blushing. "We'd crashed in the middle of that huge, ancient temple, and we soon realised that it consisted of a series of different tests. One would open up each day. To start off with, we didn't know what it was for. Kylo believed it might be a trap left by the ancient Jedi, to capture Sith, but… we eventually learned it was something quite different. Kylo… your son… he realised each of the tests was focused on a line from the Code of the Sith."

This gets him a much more careful look, hinted with a touch of alarm. "It was a _Sith_ temple?"

"Yes. For the first two days, it blocked Kylo's connection to the Force entirely. On the second night… he got it back."

"I imagine that helped," Leia remarks, with a little headtilt.

"You could say that," Poe answers, before he can stop himself, which gets him _quite_ a look from the General.

"I _see_ ," Leia manages. "What were these tests you spoke of?"

So many questions. It's like a psych-eval, but even more personal. And the whole interrogative-thing is clearly a family trait, and…

…OK, Dameron, don't think that. Focus.

"A combination of physical and mental. Later ones also required use of the Force. Two… were entirely hallucinations. After the fifth – and, we soon learned, final – test we were granted access to the central temple, which contained only one thing. A holocron. It was a recording from long ago – from the days of the Old Republic – made by a Jedi-turned-Sith named Darth Revan."

Recognition flashes in Leia's eyes. "I've heard the name. She betrayed the Jedi Council. Oppressed the galaxy for years. She was one of the most powerful Sith who ever lived, and then, at the height of her influence… she vanished."

Poe shakes his head. "Not quite. I think the truth of what happened to her was hidden from the records. She was pulled back from the brink by her lover, and she founded a new Sith Order. An offshoot from the one everybody knows, built on a combination of Dark Side and Light Side teachings. They were… grey Sith. Both Dark and Light. The temple was a proving ground for the new order's adherents."

Leia watches him very carefully for a moment, as if weighing all this up. "What did Ben–" she starts out, then catches herself with a momentary pause. "What did my son have to say about all this?"

From the look in her eyes, she's obviously scared Kylo's response would have been to tear the temple to the ground and declare it impossible to _ever_ follow such a doctrine.

"He practically signed himself up on the spot," Poe answers, with a smile of his own, knowing this news will be more welcome than Leia could ever hope. "He… those days we spent together, on Eigengrau… they changed him, General. Or… no. No. They set him free."

Leia closes her eyes for a moment, turning away slightly. There's old, old pain writ large across her face, and it's clear that some part of her still doesn't quite dare wonder if the nightmare of the last fifteen years might be coming to an end.

"He believed it?" she whispers.

Poe nods. "He did. He does. He's not the person you thought he was, General. He's not even the person _he_ thought he was."

Both of them are silent for a moment, and then Leia looks at him again. "What happened next?"

"After we saw the holocron, the blocking field over the planet lifted," Poe explains. "Within a few hours, the troopers from the shuttle had managed to get it in the air, and they came back for us. But before they arrived, Kylo and I came up with a plan. We… pretended that we were still enemies. That he… that he had broken me. I was taken back into custody, and we were all returned to the _Finalizer_ , and – a little while later – Kylo got me out. He put me and BB-8 in that TIE-Interceptor, and we escaped, and came here."

"He didn't come with you."

"No. But… that was tactical. There's something I haven't told you yet. Something you need to know. General… the First Order has constructed a new superweapon. A base larger and more terrible even than the Death Star itself, built into an entire planet, which – when brought online – will have the power to obliterate multiple worlds simultaneously. They call it the Starkiller."

The horror in Leia's eyes at this news is unveiled, and she puts a hand on the desk at her side, to steady herself.

"Kylo stayed back because we have an operation in progress. He put a copy of the plans for Starkiller Base into BB-8's memory banks. With that… we can make an attack on the base and take it out, before the First Order can use it to fire on any populated worlds. Kylo stayed back because someone needs to take down the shields surrounding the planet, to let us in, and because… when the base is destroyed… he believes he will be summoned to meet with Supreme Leader Snoke in person."

"…Why does he want that?" Leia whispers, the horror in her eyes now blending to raw agony.

"Why else?" Poe answers, softly. "To kill him. To destroy the man who ripped his life in half. Once he has… the galaxy will be free, and Kylo… Kylo will be free, as well."

Sometimes it seems like too much to hope for, and other times… it's so close, Poe can almost taste it.

"I see," Leia says, finally. "Well. You can brief everyone on the plan of attack shortly. We will need to begin making preparations at once."

"Of course, General," Poe replies. "I believe we have a couple of days, but no more. I… want to tell the others what's happened, first. Red and Blue Squads. They deserve to hear it from me. Some of them… some of them may not take it well."

"Many of them will be shocked, I agree. But they trust you completely, Poe. Give them time to remember that, and I know all of them will follow you into this. And not just because the fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance."

"I hope you're right. I truly do."

Leia smiles, knowingly. "I am. Now… let the tech teams have some time with BB-8, and you go talk to the other pilots. Before you worry yourself silly."

"Yes, ma'am. Oh… there is one other thing. The base at Edrast, in the Tylorn system… is it still unoccupied?"

"As far as I know," Leia answers. "I'll have Admiral Statura find out for certain. Why?"

"Because… I had to give it up. After we got back from Eigengrau, General Hux insisted I be questioned about the location of our base. _This_ base. Luckily… it was Kylo who came to do it. We… we made it look convincing, and I gave up Edrast, instead of giving up D'Qar."

"I see. Then we must be grateful for that. I will ensure none of our people go near the Tylorn system."

"That would be wise. With your leave, General, I will go and talk to the other pilots."

"Of course. Take your time." Leia gives him a nod, and Poe turns to leave. His hand is over the button to open the door when Leia adds. "Poe?"

He looks back. "General?"

"Thank you. I mean it."

"You don't have to thank me."

His General shakes her head, with a little smile. "You're so sure of yourself when you're flying. Why are you less sure on the ground?"

"Because I'm a pilot, ma'am. It's what I know. Where I belong."

"You belong here, too. Try to remember that."

And – not at all certain how to take this – Poe nods. "I will, General. I will."

***

Poe stands outside the main command bunker, a few minutes later, giving himself a chance to think. There are quite a few people around and he knows some of them are looking at him, but no one interrupts, and they let him have his space.

He needs it.

Well. No one interrupts until Snap Wexley comes walking over, a very deliberate edge to his step.

"There you are," he says. "How'd it go with the General?"

"Better than I expected," Poe admits, which gets him a quizzical look from the other man.

"You gonna tell me why?" Snap pushes.

"Yes. Look. Let's… let's go somewhere quiet."

Wexley's eyebrows go up at that, but he nods and acquiesces, and the two of them pace further down the line of landing pads, stopping when they reach Poe's own X-Wing, _Black One_. He reaches up, resting a hand against the ship, longing to be at the controls again. Maybe he'll get clearance to go out this evening, even if only to skim over the treetops, alone and _free_.

"You two want a moment?" Snap says, with a little grin, which makes Poe drop his hand from _Black One's_ hull and look over at him.

"You know we like it when you watch," he replies.

"Sure I do. And when I listen, too."

"That was _one time_ , Snap, and I said I was sorry!"

The other man laughs. "Yeah, you did. Doesn't mean I can't carry on reminding you about it. Now… why all the mystery? What in the Force _happened_ to you out there?"

Poe paces along down his X-Wing, right to the back, beyond where they can't be easily seen. Snap follows him, then stands with his arms folded across his chest.

"Out with it, Dameron."

Deep breath. "I'll tell the full story to you and the others next. But… there's one thing I wanted you to know first. Because you're my best friend."

"Caginess _and_ flattery. This ought to be good."

"It's about Kylo Ren."

The humour drops from Snap's voice, and his expression darkens a little. "Snoke's protégé? What about him?"

"He's not just Snoke's protégé, Snap. He's General Organa's son."

"I know that. Or… I know he _was_. Now, I'm not so sure." The other man headtilts. "Poe, where is this going?"

A sigh. "For reasons I'll explain properly when I tell everyone, I spent the last week with Kylo Ren. For most of it, we were marooned on an uninhabited planet together. And…"

Snap Wexley's expression is one of a man hovering on the cusp of understanding, but not quite there.

"…And something happened between us. He… I…" Look down. Look back up. Try not to appear target-shaped. "…I'm sleeping with him, Snap."

For a long moment, it's clear the other man's mind has completely frozen in shock, and then, he moves _fast_. The right-hook comes out of nowhere, sending Poe reeling backwards, landing with a dull thud, his head ringing from the impact.

Snap looks down at him, confused, angry, scared. Maybe a little guilty about having hit him like that. Poe, for his part, stares up from where he's landed, lifting a hand to wipe the blood from his lip.

"Are you out of your Force-damned mind?!" Snap exclaims. "He's a Darksider, Poe; a _murderer_. He's dangerous, he's… _evil_."

"I'll agree he's a Darksider. I'll agree he's murdered people. He is certainly dangerous. But… he's not evil."

"What the fuck did he do to you?" Snap breathes, as if in some kind of horrible realisation. "Poe… tell me he didn't…"

"He didn't do anything I didn't want," Poe insists, hastily – cautiously – scrambling back to his feet, keeping a little more distance between himself and the other man whilst they talk this out. "Well… not like _that_. He questioned me aboard the _Finalizer_ , more than once, and that… that involved some force. And _the_ Force. But… after we ended up marooned together… things changed."

"So, what, you leapt into bed with him? Poe… did you ever stop to think he might be manipulating you?"

Poe looks down, then back up. Not wanting to take his eyes off the other man for too long, in case Snap goes for him again. "Yes," he answers, softly. "More than once. But… I know what it feels like when he _does_ manipulate me, and… he isn't. Wasn't."

"How can you possibly know that for sure? And, even if you _are_ right about him not doing this with the Force… Poe, you might have Dependency Syndrome. You might… might have formed the attachment as a means of survival…"

"It happened too quickly," Poe replies, which is true and also not helpful, because it makes him seem even more as though he's off his head. "Snap… this isn't what it looks like. I swear to you. This is me, in my right mind. This is me telling you that Kylo Ren is not the monster you think he is."

There's a moment's silence, and then Snap turns and punches the side of _Black One_ with a resounding _clang_ , before staring at Poe again. "I should put you right back on your ass, Dameron. I should…"

He trails off. Folds his arms again. Takes a very deep breath.

"You had me worried out of my mind. I thought you were dead. And now you turn up and tell me you spent a week playing nice with a galactic mass-murderer!"

"No, I spent _five days_ 'playing nice with a galactic mass-murderer'. The rest of the time I mostly spent locked in cells or being physically and mentally _beaten_ for information. BB-8 stopped the First Order getting hold of the true map to Luke Skywalker. Kylo Ren saved my life on the sun-baked pit of insanity where we got ourselves trapped. And, at the end of it all, he let me go. He got me out. And he sent me here with the plans to the First Order's new superweapon, so we can destroy it before they make the Death Star look like a quaint little stroll in the sunshine!"

Pause. Breathe. Breathe.

Snap Wexley looks conflicted. "They have a new superweapon?"

"Starkiller Base. I didn't see it, but I have the plans. And it _does_ make the Death Star look like a quaint little stroll in the sunshine."

The other man is silent at this.

"I know you think I've lost my mind," Poe goes on, more calmly. Trying to get his best friend to understand. "I know why you think that. If our positions were reversed… I'd probably think the same. But… I know what I'm doing. I know, and I need you to back me up on this. Kylo Ren is more a victim than anyone on this base. He has done terrible things, but he has also been through a special kind of hell that you _cannot_ truly understand. That _I_ cannot truly understand. But there is good in him, so much good that it has been ripping him in half. And now… now he has a focus for it."

"You?" Snap says, softly.

"Yeah." Quiet. Calmer still. Almost… like the way when he feels when he's with Kylo, wrapped in the other man's arms. "Yeah. Me."

Snap sighs, and looks down. "You better be right about this."

"I know. I am."

"I'm going to be keeping an eye on you. You so much as _imply_ for one second that you're not in your right mind, and I will lay you out on the duracrete faster than you can say 'angry best friend mode'. You got that?"

"Yeah, Snap. I got that."

"Good. Now, you're gonna come and tell everyone what you just told me. If you want them to keep following you to hell and back, you've got to tell them the truth. And you've got to tell all of us what happened out there."

Poe nods. "I will. And… you know, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I might still hit you again."

"Just so long as it's you who hits me and not Jess. I can still get back up on my own when it's you."

"Shut up, Dameron."

Snap throws an arm around Poe's shoulders and hugs him again, and then the two of them head off for the _next_ difficult conversation.

There seem to be a lot of those about right now.

***

A little swarm of X-Wings drop out of hyperspace, and the first thought in Poe Dameron's mind is a powerful sense of déjà vu. There, up ahead, is Starkiller Base. He's never seen it in reality, and yet the hateful thing is infinitely familiar to him, hanging in the dark of space, full of malevolence and menace.

It's been two days since he got back to D'Qar, and in that time the Resistance has scrambled to get ready for this moment. To prepare, using the plans that Poe gave to them, the plans that Kylo put into BB-8's memory banks.

Their time has been limited. The plans included strict instructions for precisely when the Starkiller Base's shields will be lowered – by Kylo himself – and it's then that the Resistance will have its one and only window.

They have to do this now. They have to destroy the base. If they don't, the thing will shortly be operational, and once it is… no one will be safe.

The First Order will obliterate Hosnian Prime. Probably Coruscant, too. Most likely Edrast, if they haven't already swarmed the old base there and found it deserted.

Starkiller has to be destroyed. Today. _Now_.

Poe feels a thrill of excitement, despite it all, as he looks down on the base. This is it. This is the moment he's been waiting for, preparing for. He's done this once in a dream, and now – finally – he gets to do it in reality.

And, this time, he's going to get it right.

"Red Squad, Blue Squad, this is Black Leader. All wings, report in."

He listens as the other pilots call in, one at a time. It's a familiar, almost comforting exercise, like stopping to listen to your own heartbeat just for a moment. Remembering that you're alive. When the last callsign has come through, he speaks again.

"All right, people, this is it. We've got one shot at this, and I _know_ we can pull it off. Lock S-foils into attack formation and follow me down. And… may the Force be with us all."

"Copy that!"

"Roger, Black Leader."

"We're with you, Poe!"

They are, too. All of them. All of them still with him. He'd be lying if he said the last couple of days haven't been difficult – they have, and convincing everyone that he isn't a mind-controlled drone or a psychologically broken wreck has not been easy. Not been easy at all. But… they seem to be coming around. Some faster than others. And not a single one of them declined a place on this attack run.

They're going to do this. They have to.

Poe's sensors flash. The shield is down. Whatever Kylo has done, it's worked.

This is it.

Following Poe's lead, the Resistance ships surge through the atmosphere, X-Wings buffeted by thick cloud as they drop lower and lower, hurtling towards their target. And… there it is: Precinct 47, exactly as it looked during the hallucination on Eigengrau. Dark. Angular. Lit with red running lights.

 _Target-shaped_.

"TIE-Fighters on an intercept course!" Red Five calls out.

"Here we go, people," Poe answers. "Light 'em up!"

He blazes into the battle like never before, pushing forward into a sharp dip and then arcing back up and around, taking out three TIEs in quick succession. The sheer _joy_ of flying mixes with the very real satisfaction at finally getting to do this, and he's soon lost in the moment – still seeing everything with razor-sharp focus, but at the same time swooping through the battle like a man possessed.

"Gotcha!" he hears Jess shout, as a TIE-Fighter explodes in a ball of light right ahead of her.

" _Nice shooting!_ " Nien Nunb concurs, in Sullustan.

"Keep this up, everyone!" Poe encourages them. "Blue Squad, concentrate your fire on the precinct. Watch for the flares…"

Down below, on the surface of the planet, three Resistance troop carriers have landed, spilling ground soldiers into the target structure. They know – from the plans Kylo Ren gave them – that it's going to take more than just the main shield coming down to pull this off. The ground troops are armed with explosives, to take out key structural points inside Precinct 47: enough to give the X-Wing squadrons a way in, to allow them to take the thing out for good.

And when Precinct 47 goes up… so does Starkiller Base.

High above the snowy tundra, the battle rages on. It is not an easy one by any means, and more than once Poe hears screams over the radio, as another pilot goes down. It hurts – it always hurts – but he can't dwell on it now. None of them can.

_Do this. Survive. Win. Mourn later, when it's over._

That's how it has to be. How it has always had to be.

And then… flares shoot into the sky from down below, seconds before a series of violent explosions burst out from the massive structure.

"All wings, this is Black Leader! The ground troops are pulling out. We gotta do this now! Red Squad, keep running interference. Blue Squad, follow me in!"

This is it. This is it. This is it.

He's seen this moment in his dreams, maybe his whole life. It always used to be the Death Star trench run, imagined, fantasised, hypothetical, but in the last few days… it has been _this_. The way he saw it, during the test on Eigengrau. It looks just the same way now, as Poe swoops down into the long trench approaching Precinct 47. He can see three of the others on his scope: Jess, Asty, Snap, dropping in behind him, ready to follow him through.

This is it. His moment. The moment he gets to prove _he can do this_.

Swoop left. Cannon down. Swoop right. TIE-Fighter explodes. Up. Left. Turn. Breathless with some strange kind of joy, hope, euphoria, _victory_.

 _There is only passion_.

The thoughts flare in Poe's mind. Kylo. Kylo, somewhere down in this hateful rock of a planet. Ready to make his move. Ready to be summoned to Snoke's side, to end the monster who tore his life apart.

It isn't like the hallucination. They don't have a commlink. Poe doesn't know precisely what's happening. But… somehow, he knows it's all going to plan.

Right. Down. Left. Barrel-roll. _BOOM_.

"Hot damn, Dameron, you are on _fire_ today!" Snap whoops, over the comm.

"Most daring pilot in the Resistance, remember?" Poe replies, with a grin. General Organa called him that again during the briefing, and Snap hasn't let him forget it.

He hasn't let himself forget it.

The entrance to the infrastructure of Precinct 47 looms up ahead, right where he's known it would be. His way in. His moment. And it couldn't be more perfect. It couldn't be more…

The shot comes out of nowhere. One second, he's rolling at speed, folding in his S-foils and preparing for ingress, and the next the cockpit is filled with sparks and some anguished beeping from BB-8.

"I'm hit!" Poe calls out, in shock. "I'm hit!"

"Pull up!" he hears Snap yelling. "Pull up, Dameron, pull up!"

He has no other choice. Poe yanks back on the controls and _Black One_ hurtles out of the trench, juddering dangerously as it goes. One look at the readouts is all it takes: he is never breaking atmosphere like this. It'll be a small miracle if he even manages to put down in one piece.

Fuck. Fuck.

"BB-8, can you get the gyros stabilised?" he shouts, which gets him a great deal more anguished beeping, followed by a negative.

Fuck.

Fighting the controls, Poe tries to direct his flightpath away from the worst of the combat. Away from Precinct 47. He doesn't have time right now to muse on what that means: all he can do is struggle desperately to maintain altitude, to _not_ slam nose-first into the ground.

 _Help me_ , he thinks, in sudden horror. " _Help me_."

Bursting over dark tundra, distant explosions behind him, and the surface racing closer and closer…

"Hold on, BB-8, hold on!" Poe shouts. "Brace for impact! Brace for–"

The world goes white. And the last thing Poe Dameron is aware of are the horrified shouts over the radio.

" _Black Leader is down! Black Leader is down!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaaaaand CLIFFHANGER!
> 
> #SorryNotSorry
> 
> ;-)


	23. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently we broke a few of you with that last cliffhanger! Excellent, excellent, all our plans are coming to fruition... ;-)
> 
> But because we are benevolent overlords (sort of), have some closure. For real, this time.

Poe comes to with a sudden jump. His ears are ringing and everything seems distant and hazy and… _oh_ , his head _hurts_ … he's… where is he..? Where is..?

He can hear the dead-sound crackle of a radio that has lost all connection. The sparking of a ship left barely intact. The alarmed screeching of a very unhappy little astromech. He blinks a few more times, managing to get the world to swim back into focus, rubbing blood out of his eyes and struggling for breath, and…

…oh _no_ …

He remembers. He's been shot down. He's ditched onto the surface of the Starkiller Base which – in a very short space of time – is going to be blown apart. What can he do? _What can he do?_

"BB-8, can you hear me?!"

The little astromech replies at once, obviously relieved he's alive, but very alarmed by their predicament.

"We're gonna have to make a run for it. I'll let you down."

He slams the button to lower BB-8 out of the ship, and hears the clunk as the loading system disengages – at least something still works – before yanking the release on his crash harness. He pulls off his badly-battered helmet – from the way his head feels, it probably saved his life – and then slams the button to open the cockpit.

Nothing. He slams it again. _Nothing_.

He's trapped. He's trapped in his own ship and it's going to take him far too long to trip the controls into opening it up, and…

…By the _Force_ , no…

Poe looks up. There's another ship incoming: a TIE-Interceptor, engines obviously burning hot as it hurtles lower. Someone is coming after him. He doesn't know why the First Order would pay him any mind now, moments away from death in one form or another, but there's no way that ship is aiming for anywhere other than here and…

…and it is clearly being flown by some kind of maniac. There's no obvious damage, which means the Interceptor hasn't also been shot down, but the way it's waving about, you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise. And _that_ is when he sees the Interceptor cut its engines entirely and start _gliding_ down towards him – continuing to lurch all over the place – and he wonders if maybe he's hallucinating again. Or still. Or something.

It doesn't matter either way. If the pilot of that thing is coming after him, he's in trouble. Poe struggles to pull his blaster from his hip, ready to point it at anyone who so much as _tries_ to come near him.

Outside, amidst the swirling snow, the Interceptor skids to a halt. Poe can just make out a single, dark figure through the haze, clambering out of the other ship and stalking over. He hears a distant, loud beeping from BB-8 – though he can't make out what the droid is saying – and then the Interceptor pilot climbs up onto the stricken X-Wing.

Poe bites his lip and braces for the moment when the cockpit lid – with surprising ease – springs open. When, in a whirl of snow and cold air and lingering sparks, he sees the person half-clinging to the outside of his ship, looming over him.

It's like the whole world has snapped in two.

" _Kylo?!_ "

" **Don't you dare die on me now, Dameron** ," Kylo growls through his helmet, clearly not having had time to remove it. He glares at the mess of broken ship around his lover, then closes his eyes and _rips_ durasteel apart, pulling plating and bolts and buckled structures away from him.

Although none of his skin whatsoever is visible, he still, somehow, manages to look pale. Pale and wobbly, though that could be radiating from him. "I felt you. I felt you were in danger. I just…"

He thought he might lose him. Thought he might lose the one good thing left in the galaxy. He's pretty sure he broke Hux's nose on the way out, and he's not sure if the ship he stole is even _spaceworthy_ any more.

The second the X-Wing's cockpit is all but ripped in half, Poe surges upwards and throws his arms around the other man. Partly because seeing him again after two and a half days apart is a special kind of beautiful agony, and partly because he'd really like some help getting out of the remnants of his ship.

"I hope you can fly that monster," Kylo says, indulging himself in hugging Poe back, his senses flickering over the worst of the damage to check if he's going to drop dead any minute. "I thought the _Falcon_ was impossible. How does anyone make them do what they want? I had to land it with the **Force** , and let me tell you no one – not even Darth Revan – gives you lessons in _that_." 

The larger the body to control, the harder it is. Then add the fact it was already in erratic motion, and Kylo's emotional status hadn't been too level, and it's a wonder he isn't actually currently on fire. 

"I can fly anything, remember?" Poe replies, trying to sound like his usual, cocky self, despite the fact that he feels like hell and the world is still a little hazy and he just thought he was about to die.

There's a blizzard picking up all around them. It is not pleasant. With Kylo's help, Poe manages to scramble down out of what's left of _Black One_ – his poor baby, he's really going to miss it – and onto the snowy ground of the planet below, where BB-8 is waiting, whirling and beeping in agitation.

"It's more that I probably… broke more than a bit of it on the way down," Kylo grumbles. "You're lucky I got it down without it exploding. And that I can feel you in the Force."

If he hadn't, if he hadn't felt the sudden, inexorable _pull_ to save him… "We need to get off this planet, soon. Before I left, they were actually digging out the evacuation plans. I doubt there's much time left before the whole planet blows."

BB-8 whirls in alarm, looking up at the TIE that was clearly not designed for a droid. Kylo helps Poe in first, then… "You're going to have to let me pick you up." Not that BB-8 has much of a choice in the matter. He climbs into the other position (too tall, knees up by shoulders) and uses the Force to lift the droid up. Up and… where can they fit an astromech? BB-8 clucks at him, and Kylo reluctantly puts the astromech on his lap.

"Tell anyone about this and, bond or no bond, you're being melted down for scrap."

BB-8 cheerily concurs. 

Thanks to his ever-increasing familiarity with the First Order's collection of starfighters – and with Interceptors in particular, it would seem – Poe is able to race through the pre-flight checks pretty quickly, tugging on his crash harness whilst he reassures himself that the ship's hyperdrive is still functional.

"Hold on," he says, closing the cockpit door and powering up the engines. The energy levels are all over the place and… OK, seriously, how _did_ Kylo manage to survive this far, and… maybe don't ask him that out loud…

"Can you shoot?" Poe asks, instead. "I realise you have a lapful of my astromech but I'd just _love_ the chance to take down a few more enemy fighters whilst we make a run for it."

He's still sore about what happened to _Black One_ , and it shows.

"I can shoot. I learned _that_ much, at least," Kylo replies. "You may want to make sure we're able to get away without either your own squadron or the First Order's TIEs taking us down, though. We'll be targets for both sides if we're not careful."

BB-8 bounces a little, and stills when a hand is placed on its chassis. "Shh. You can… do something else…" Kylo offers. "I didn't have time to steal something you could help in. I was more interested in finding something that would fit both of us and have a hyperdrive."

Also if he tried to fly his shuttle then he likely would have crashed it. 

Kylo flicks on the controls, and tries to get to grips with them around the droid, his helmet (somewhere between his knees) and the fact that he's too tall to begin with. They do not make ships like this for tall men (or women). 

"Don't worry about my guys," Poe says, as he engages the engines and the Interceptor starts to lift gracefully off from the snow. "I'm going to try to raise them on the radio. It'll have to go wide-band so the First Order lot will be able to detect it too, but they'll have a hard time picking us out of the swarm if they decide to try to go for us."

As he turns the ship, he can see the huge plumes of fire still bursting out of Precinct 47, and he knows that one of the squad has done it. That they've succeeded in the run, and taken the thing down. All he can do right now is hope they're OK. Any thoughts of annoyance at having not done it himself simply do not register in the face of these far more serious concerns.

It's another reason he wants to get on the radio. Three of his closest friends were right behind him on that trench run. He needs to know they all got out.

The second their ascent angle is right, Poe launches the Interceptor forwards, and the ship hurtles skyward. And it… oh, he really does love flying these things. Maybe a little too much. He does seem to be building up a collection of them. He whoops with delight as they go, banking sharply and racing straight at the battle raging up above Precinct 47, as the X-Wings all try to get out of range and break atmosphere.

Kylo can actually shoot. He would likely be a better shot if he didn't have such terrible conditions to work in, but he can augment his own skills with the Force, and the green light arcs out to smack into the flurry of small craft. It feels very strange to be doing it, considering he's only killed with his sabre or the Force for some time now, and it's almost like playing in a childhood sim game, rather than actually sending people hurtling to their snowy, fiery deaths.

If he couldn't feel them blipping out of the Force, he'd not connect with the reality of it at all. And he finds – as he shoots – a morbid satisfaction of winning, tempered by the sadness of having to do it to begin with. But these people are shooting to kill, and in war you don't get to find a middle ground between the traded weapons' fire. 

"They are likely to evacuate, soon. If you… want to do one last run, we can cause problems for them by shooting up some of the major hangars," Kylo offers. "Unless you want to just get away from the dogfight." 

"I never want to get away from a dogfight until the last minute," Poe answers, with a very audible grin. "I'm gonna line us up, then I'll get on the radio."

He does not want to get shot down again, after all. Twice in one day would be more than his dignity could handle. He pulls up the hangar bays on the targeting scanners, arcing to the side and then swooping back down as he brings the Interceptor into weapons' range.

And, as he does, he broadcasts wide-band on the radio. "Red Squad, Blue Squad, this is Black Leader, I repeat, this is Black Leader. I'm in an Interceptor again, trailing chaff so you can pick me out…" A flick, and he activates the ship's inbuilt anti-warhead countermeasure, leaving a cloud of sparks trailing in their wake.

"…Poe, you're alive?!" comes Snap's voice, over the comm. "We thought we'd lost you there! How by the Stars did you get yourself _another_ Interceptor?!"

"Long story," Poe answers. "I'll explain later. For now, we're gonna give you a hand with these guys, but don't linger here too long. We'll follow you up and back to base."

"We?" Snap repeats. "You got BB-8 out too?"

"Damn straight I did! Like I'd leave my astro behind. No –"

"– good pilot flies without their astro," Snap and Jess both say over the comm, in unison, and all three of them laugh.

"You guys know me too well. Now cut the chatter and let's give these First Order bucketheads a good pounding!"

"Copy that, Black Leader!"

As the channel cuts out, Poe looks back over his shoulder, remembering that Kylo will have heard everything he just said. "I thought it best not to tell them you're on board just yet," he says. "We gotta do this part carefully. I… didn't mean anything bad by it."

Survival. Just survival. His mind works differently when he's behind the controls of a starfighter. It has to.

"…if you happen to find an inhabitable planet to hide me away on when we're done here, I'm not going to object," his lover replies. Kylo very much doesn't want to think about how he's going to be unwelcome by the Resistance. Starkiller or not, there's too much sin in his past to wash away with one act of atonement. Far, far too much.

He takes out the ground cannon first, the anti-aircraft defences that aren't programmed to target another TIE. The First Order would never conceive of one of their own being used against them, even after the last betrayal. Kylo aims for the power couplers, and they blow. It lights up the hangar bay, and means they'll likely lose much of their ability to evacuate. 

"We won't get too many chances to do this before they manage to target us," he points out. Another TIE comes close, and he carpets it with fire, more fury than precision. 

"I'm not hiding you on an inhabitable planet," Poe replies. "I'm taking you home with me."

He is, too, isn't he? He hadn't expected it to happen this fast. After all, the plan was for Kylo to go after Snoke now, but that won't be possible any longer – at least, not how they originally intended – and, given that he's stolen an Interceptor, it's a fair bet to say his cover is blown.

Which means… they're both going back to D'Qar. If nothing else, it means Poe will at least be able to sleep without waking in constant worry, which has been the norm for the past two nights. Although, maybe he'll be awake for other reasons, and…

…focus, Dameron, focus…

"One last run," he says, instead. "I want these bastards to _hurt_."

"Believe me, when this planet goes, the echo of their agony will make the Force shake." Kylo knows how much the Starkiller means to them: how much time, effort, money and blood has been poured into this project. It's their magnum opus, their crowning glory.

Without it, they'll be reeling. Without it, they'll be fighting for their lives.

BB-8 whirs in alarm, and Kylo responds by shooting the Bomber down. It explodes with an impressive display of ignited potential, and Kylo wonders how long before the planet does the same. 

"…they might not want me there, Poe." And I'm not sure I want to be there, either, he thinks. 

"They don't get a choice. I want you there." The fierceness in Poe's tone is unhidden, now, though not directed at anyone in particular. "Besides, when they realise who you really are, they'll come around. They will. They're good people, Kylo. Of course they are. Your mother is their leader."

He arcs the ship around to give Kylo one last shot at the hangar bay, flames bursting through it as the cannon fire hits home. "You're good at that!" Poe tells him, as he turns the ship back towards the skies. "We make a damn good team."

"No one can stop a Sith Lord and his Apprentice," Kylo replies, with a bit of amusement bleeding into his tone. "And you gave me that shot. They don't call you the Resistance's best pilot idly, do they?" 

BB-8 agrees with the gunner, though remembers not to move too much and distract them from their work.

"Have you told them that you're technically Darth Poe, yet? Or were you trying to--" wait. "…do they even know…?" Does anyone even know? About me? About us? Fear and nausea grip Kylo's stomach, and he blows off some of the steam by hitting one ship just _so_ that it whirls off and takes out the TIE just behind it. 

"They know about us, Kylo," Poe tells him, as the Interceptor races higher and higher. "I told them. Of course I told them. I wanted them to know the truth about you from the start."

It made your mother smile in the strangest way and it made Snap hit me in the face. And several of the other pilots are still keeping something of an eye on him whenever he's around. But… all in all, the reaction has been much better than Poe worried in the beginning.

"I didn't tell them I'm technically a Darth, now, though," he adds – admits – as the dark sky beyond the duraglass windows grows even darker still. "I figured I'd wait until they were a little more used to the rest of it, first."

"So I should refrain from introducing myself as your Master, then?" Kylo's trying to make light of it, he really is, but it's clear there's an undercurrent of purest, purest terror there. "And calling you My Apprentice in public?" 

"Might be wise, to start off with. But… they'll accept you, Kylo. They will. I know this can't be easy, but… it will work out. You know how much I trust you, so… trust _me_."

Poe would be lying if he said his own heart wasn't racing somewhat at the thought of what's going to happen when they get back to D'Qar. Concentrating on what he's doing helps with that – it helps a lot – but as soon as they go to hyperspeed…

The ship breaks atmosphere with a final judder, and Poe hits the radio again.

"All wings, this is Black Leader. Prepare for the jump to hyperspace. We're right behind you."

Which is when Kylo Ren, Dark Lord of the Sith, Master of both Light and Dark Sides of the Force… pushes BB-8 slightly to one side and uses the Force to grab his helmet from between his knees and jams it on his head. Not panicking. Not panicking. Not holding the droid like it's a pillow. Not. 

For the moment, Poe is oblivious to this. Which is probably for the best.

And then, behind them, the vast monstrosity that is Starkiller Base suddenly flares bright orange, half-collapsing on itself as it implodes, then explodes in a vast, cleansing fireball.

In this moment, it's the most beautiful sight in the galaxy.

The radio explodes with whoops and cheers, and, in the midst of it all – before the explosion can catch up with them – Poe gives the final order.

"Punch it!"

Reality streaks to white, and they're away.

***

It isn't long before the X-Wings all drop out of hyperspace again, keeping that lone Interceptor in their midst, D'Qar looming large up ahead. As they do, Snap Wexley's voice comes over the comm.

"Ground base, this is Blue Leader. Request clearance to land. We have a TIE-Interceptor with us that needs clearance too."

"Another?" comes the reply from ground command. "What did Dameron do this time?"

"Long story," Snap answers – in exactly the same tone Poe used when he said the same. "I'm looking forward to hearing it myself."

"Roger that, Blue Leader. All wings, this is D'Qar base: flash your transponders and prepare for approach."

And down they go, one after the other, swooping in neat formation, obviously revelling in their recent victory. Poe follows at the end, arcing down through the clouds, the green forests of D'Qar soon coming into view.

Kylo watches, but in a cold, clinical way. He hasn't spoken in some time, too… busy playing through a million scenarios in his head. In the dark of his chambers, over the years he's been away… of course he's thought about it. Thought about turning tail and running. Running straight back into the Resistance's arms. Throwing his mask and his sabre to one side, and begging for clemency. 

It never worked, in those dreams he had. People screamed, or levelled blasters at his head, or…

Sometimes, he would let them shoot him, in his dreams. Let them execute him for his crimes. He had every ability to stop a bolt dead in its traces, but if he just let it carry on and–

BB-8 beeps cautiously, trying to get Poe's attention. 

"You OK back there?" Poe replies at once, as the Interceptor swoops almost to tree level, and he's…

_…skimming across the treetops, fast, free, invulnerable; not on Yavin 4, yes, but somewhere that almost means as much, now… and this is happening and he can do it, the whole world responding to the slightest nudge on the controls…_

Kylo doesn't even hear him, not to begin with. The droid in his lap bounces, trying to snap him away from the flinch reaction he's locked into, and the Sith looks down, blinking behind his mask.

"Yes." No. Absolutely not. His voice is utterly devoid of emotion, because to let any surface at all right now would be to risk utter disaster. There's too much, too much to cope with, to process, to feel. "I'm fine." 

"It's going to be all right," Poe tells him, gently. "It's going to be all right. You don't have to do any of this alone."

He knows he can't ever come close to helping the other man prepare for this. Not really. But… he still tries, still tries so hard to keep him calm, to reassure him, to remind him that he _isn't_ alone and this won't be like the nightmares he's surely had about an unexpected homecoming.

Beneath them, the trees finally thin out and there's open ground, with the Resistance base in the midst of it: a collection of blocky buildings, low hangars, and landing pads, where the surviving X-Wings are putting down.

Poe does a quick count, then swears under his breath and does it again. Seven. They've lost seven. Seven pilots, and eight ships, given what happened to _Black One_.

"Hold on," he says, mostly for the sake of something else _to_ say. "I'm gonna land next to the other one…"

It seems appropriate. The first TIE-Interceptor he made off with is still sitting where he left it, the day he got back, and he moves to land the current one right beside it. There's a thud and a clunk as they connect with the duracrete, and then Poe starts powering the ship down.

Trying not to worry about what comes next.

"Poe… I don't…" know that I can do this. I don't know that I can walk out of this ship. I don't know if they're going to shoot me on sight. Kylo's voice is modulated by the helmet, but even that doesn't cut out the panic in those three words. His hands are shaking, and he's struggling to find--

_Fingers in his hair, on his face. A warm man in his arms. The knowledge that he'd rip the galaxy in two for him. The way he makes all the agony somehow worth it, how--_

"Take me home?" he whispers. 

"It's going to be all right," Poe insists, again. His tone different, now he's on the ground, but no less sure. "Just… stay close to me, whilst I sort this out…"

And he hits the cockpit release, yanking his crash harness off and climbing out of the ship. The atmosphere beyond is absolutely buzzing, people running this way and that, whooping and shouting, and quite a lot of them – perhaps understandably – converging on him.

Instinct pulls him to do what he always does. Run towards them. Throw arms around people. Cheer and celebrate and commiserate, all at once.

But… this is different. This is like no other homecoming he's ever had. Poe turns, helping BB-8 out of the ship, and leaving the way clear for Kylo to follow.

Though, before he can, Snap Wexley races up, grabbing hold of Poe and pulling him into a tight hug. "Don't you ever do that to me again," he says. "When you were hit… damn it, Poe, I thought you were a gonner. Had to do the whole bombing run thinking my best friend was _dead_."

"Takes more than a crash-landing to kill me, Wexley, you know that," Poe replies. "And… you're the one who did it?"

"I'm the one who did it. Shoulda been you, though."

"It's done. That's all that matters. It's done."

"Damn straight it's done, and –"

Which would be when everything goes silent, the crowd of pilots and ground troops freezing as they realise that Poe Dameron did not come back to D'Qar alone.

Kylo Ren. Once Ben Organa-Solo. Now a Dark Lord of the Sith. The right hand of the Supreme Leader Snoke. The Master of the Knights of Ren. A man taller by at least half a head than any of the pilots gathering around, made taller still by the helmet and the hood that's lifted around him, swaddling him in black. Also far too tall for the TIE, climbing out as gracefully as he can and refusing to say _anything_. At all. He hesitates by the ship, eyes flickering left and right even as his head stays completely still.

BB-8 rolls up to him, behind his legs, and bumps into his calves to make him take a step forward. He glares down at the droid, and realises he's making a scene and very, very falteringly walks closer to stand behind Poe.

It's hard not to loom when you're as tall as he is, and when your boyfriend is so very, very much shorter. 

" _Kill me now, please_ ," Kylo complains, where only Poe can hear. " _Make it quick_." 

Poe does not dignify this with a response. Partly because he doesn't want to, and partly because he has a more immediate concern, given that quite a few of the surrounding crowd draw blasters on instinct, pointing them in Kylo's direction. And Poe knows that a nervous Sith Lord and a bunch of adrenaline-high pilots is a very bad combination.

His hands go up at once, standing between his allies and his boyfriend, trying to block them from each other even though he is way too short to pull it off.

"Everybody calm down!" he shouts, in a voice that gives away _precisely_ why he has the title 'commander'. "Anyone so much as _thinks_ about shooting _anybody_ , and you'll be consigned to Hoth for the rest of your days!"

"Poe, what in the _Force_ is going on?" Snap asks. He hasn't drawn a weapon, but he's backed off, and is currently standing with his arms spread, trying to stop Jess and Bastian from leaping on their leader.

"What does it look like?" Poe replies. "I got shot down over Starkiller Base. You know that. Kylo felt it through the Force, stole that Interceptor, and came to save my life. I'd be dead right now if he hadn't. So all of you – _all_ of you – put your weapons down _now_."

"Believe me, if I was here to harm any of you, you'd not be able to stop me," Kylo says, from under the mask. "…which was meant to sound reassuring, and not like a threat." 

He's not so good at the former, he's been doing the latter for too long. "I had no intention of coming here to D'Qar, but… Poe needed my help." So now you're stuck with me. His hands haven't gone for his sabre hilt, though his fingers clearly itch to, and there's a definite drawing-up, as if he's ready to use the Force to defend himself if he has to. 

Some of the pilots lower their weapons when Poe tells them to. Some do not.

"Dameron… are you _sure_ this is a good idea?" Snap pushes. He's had the longest of any of them to get used to the idea of all this, and he knows a little more than most – given that he and Poe have talked in private – but it's obvious that none of that has really prepared him for this moment.

"I'm sure, Snap. Everyone. I am _sure_." Poe sounds a little calmer now. "Listen to me. You know what I told you when I first came back here. You trusted me then, and Starkiller Base was _destroyed_ as a result. Trust me now."

"He's a _Sith_ , Poe," Jess says. Snap is no longer holding her back, but she still looks ready to pounce again.

"Yes, Jess, he's a Sith. And so am I."

This gets quite a reaction, several of the pilots clamouring to speak, though they all fall silent again when Snap's voice cuts through the lot of them.

"Poe… you don't have the Force. How can you call yourself..?"

"I passed the tests on Eigengrau," Poe reminds him. Reminds them all. "We both did. And what we came to understand is that 'Sith' does not mean 'evil'. Just…"

Say it. Say it. Say it.

"…Just as 'Jedi' does not mean 'good'."

And… cue outroar.

" _QUIET_ ," comes the sudden yell from the masked man. "Every one of you, be silent and listen for a moment. You have every right to hate me for what I've done. I've murdered more people than you could ever count. I've tortured, I've slaughtered, and I've done horrible, _unforgivable_ things. And I know that I've done them, and I'm not for one minute claiming that any of them were justified, that any of them were **right**."

Kylo pauses, making sure they all hear the sincerity in his tone. Making sure – his head turning left to right as he… oh, for the Force's sake. He puts his thumbs up to his head, clicking at the clasps. The frontispiece of his helmet slides up and away from his mouth, and then the rest opens enough for him to remove it. He tosses it to the ground, letting it clatter and roll for a few steps, and then lets them see his face. Lets them see the pain and regret and anguish. Lets them see he's Human, and he's fallible, and he's weak, and he's filled with remorse.

"The Jedi Code strangles the life out of those of us who feel too much. Their slavish adherence to order is _not_ a simple, moral good. It's no more good than gravity is. It simply _is_. It's a set of laws, and it breaks those of us who cannot follow through on them, and it makes us lash out because we have no other path we can see. But it doesn't-- I can use the Force. I can use my power. And I can use Light and Dark…"

His two hands flick out, and one – the left – creates a small storm of Force lightning. The other, the right, a small orb of peaceful, glowing Light. It's what he's learned, and he's going to damn well use it. "…I can use them for good, or for evil. If you let me, I will help bring the Balance this galaxy is calling out for. I am not your enemy unless you refuse to let me help you." 

The stunned silence says a lot. The last of the blasters are lowered, which makes Poe's heart leap with relief, and it's obvious in his posture, in the way he relaxes somewhat, dropping his own arms too.

"Let us prove this to you," he says, softly. Heartfelt. The friend – the ally – now, and not the leader. "If you trust me, you trust Kylo. And I _know_ you trust me."

Snap looks like he's going to speak again, but – before he can – there's movement at the back of the crowd, and a different voice cuts the air.

"What's going on here?"

It's General Organa. The crowd instantly parts to let her through, going _very_ quiet as the full ramifications of this moment hit home, and within seconds Leia has reached the front, stopping absolutely dead when she sees the two men at the centre.

When she sees her son.

It's clear that, even knowing what she knows, nothing in the galaxy could truly prepare Leia Organa for this moment.

"You came back," she says. Most assuredly not talking to Poe right now.

The power in his hands falters, and Kylo looks – in front of everyone – like the terrified, horror-struck man he is. A mother's son, long-absent, long-since convinced he'd never see his family again. His fists close around the balls, dissipating them without a flinch. His hands lower to his sides, and he nods. Just once, just one tiny little gesture. 

He wishes no one else but Poe was here to see this, it's… private. It's awful. It's scaring him to the core, but he… has to. "I came home." His voice almost breaks, the word hard to say. "If… if you…" will take me back. He looks ready to bolt back for the TIE, ready to try flying it all over again, and anything that makes Kylo want to fly a ship is pretty damn impressive, in and of itself. 

"Of course I will," Leia replies, understanding without needing to hear the rest. "I… we should talk. In private." Understanding, too, that this is not a moment requiring an audience.

The crowd starts to dissipate without needing to be told, such is their respect for their General. Even the ones who have seemed most aggressive, most ready to fight, back off quietly. Poe is not entirely sure if he should do the same – if this is a conversation he should intrude on – but Leia catches his reaction and gives him something of a look.

"You're coming too, Poe. Don't you dare run off."

He nods. "In that case… follow me."

And he leads them out from the base, past the cooling Interceptor and along a path that leads off the duracrete and onto the grass. It's not completely hidden, but the trees, the undergrowth, and the perimeter of ships mean that anyone would have to make a significant effort in order to watch them, and even more of an effort to listen in.

And… outside seems somehow easier than indoors. Less restrictive. Less… enclosed.

When they stop, in a little clearing – one that Poe often retreats to when he wants time alone – he backs off slightly, giving the other two space to… to do whatever happens next.

Leia is doing a very good job of looking controlled, but at the same time the shock in her eyes hasn't faded, and Poe can only imagine what this moment must be like for her.

"It's been so long," she says, finally, her gaze never leaving her son's face. "You… you're so grown-up. I thought… I _feared_ … I might never see you again."

"As did I… mother," Kylo replies, his eyes not quite able to meet hers. A woman a fraction of his size, and he looks more cowed in her presence than even Poe does. 

"I did not intend it to be like this. I… Poe was in danger, and I had no choice but to save him." He'd wanted to stay gone, stay gone and kill Snoke and then he could call for Poe and steal him away and maybe still never see any of his relatives again. That would have worked, right? Probably not, but it's the cowardly thing he wanted, deep down inside. 

" _Serious about the shooting me thing_." He glances over to Poe for support, wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. 

" _You can do this_ ," Poe thinks back, wondering how people do this when they _don't_ have a boyfriend who can talk to them in their head. Probably by not needing to do it in the first place.

"Then I thank you," Leia answers. "Poe means a great deal to us all, and I am grateful you brought him home. As… I am grateful he brought _you_ home."

Given the way she's standing, it's obvious Leia wants to move closer, wants to embrace her son, but she doesn't quite dare, not yet.

"From what Poe told us of your time on that planet, Eigengrau… it sounds as though your priorities have changed," she goes on. "Or… sharpened, perhaps. Ben, I –"

"Kylo," Poe interrupts, softly, carefully. Firmly. "His name is Kylo, now."

Leia looks at him in surprise, obviously – if subtly – reeling from the words, and then she turns her attention to her son once more.

"…Kylo," she corrects, as if trying out the name for the first time. "My son." That part will never change. "I can't put into words what it means to have you back. What it means to know that you're… _free_ … at last."

A wave of gratitude for the name radiates out through their bond, and Kylo grits his teeth to try power through this discussion. "Darth Kylo. I am a Sith, but I am still your son." He doesn't want Ben back. He isn't sure he could even be Ben, if he tried. Too much has changed, _he_ has changed. It no longer signifies him, but a past, a history. 

"The… the Supreme Leader… he…" Hand in his glove, tightening, clenching, releasing. "He… manipulated me. He used my… propensity towards the Dark Side. He…" Broke me, broke me, abused me, manipulated me, hurt me, lied to me, controlled me, shattered me and forced me to… "He… engineered my… descent. But my use of the Dark Side is not wrong, mother. What I have _done_ is, but the… the emotion, the…" eyes over to Poe, then back, "…love is not wrong. I want to change things. I want to kill him, and free the galaxy from his influence. But I need to do it my own way, not Uncle Luke's." 

"I see," Leia says, softly. Not disapproving, oh no, just… processing. "Poe explained a little of it to me. He said you had uncovered an old offshoot of the Sith Order. Grey Sith. Embracing their tenets, but using both sides of the Force in balance, tempering their ambitions with a certain amount of control. It… is a difficult idea for me to come to terms with, though I will try."

She, after all, has never known anything but her brother's way. Has never known the pull of the Dark Side.

But… she _has_ known the pull of love. Of a love that overrides any semblance of common sense. A smuggler, a _pilot_ , who won her over even though they came from different worlds.

Carefully, Poe moves closer to Kylo, stepping up next to him, taking his hand.

"If you would prefer I stay away from… others… I can. I know no one will be happy to see a Sith on a Resistance base. But I promise you, there is no deception in my being here. You can search my heart, if you wish. I will… not hide anything, not from you."

Not anymore. Kylo had kept some of the – most of the – worst of Snoke's interference from her, tried to protect her, tried to hide how broken he felt. He'd tried to deny it, or conceal it, and he wonders, now, if that was a mistake or not. "But my goal is clear: to kill Snoke, to destroy the First Order, and… and to help bring Balance. It is not easy. It is… anything but easy to walk the third path. I am pulled between two poles, and it is so easy to fall when another is in your head…" 

He winces, and grips Poe's hand as hard as he can. "But I know what I need to do. There is a girl. Grandfather told me: I need to find her. She will help us to defeat Snoke. She will help us to end this suffering." A pause, a memory, a flicker of sand, and… "I need to go to Jakku." 

Both Leia and Poe look at him in surprise.

"Jakku?" Leia repeats. "You think this girl is there? Do you… do you know who she is? And…" Her expression is so complicated now. So conflicted. "…You saw your grandfather? You saw Darth Vader?"

Even Poe can tell how much Leia is obviously hoping to be corrected on this one.

"I saw Darth Vader, but I also saw Anakin Skywalker," Kylo tells her, evenly. "In the final test, he… he challenged me. And when I conquered myself, when I regained control over my own choices, he turned to Anakin. He gave me a – a vision. A command. He told me I must find her, and I… believe I felt her presence when I was on Jakku. There was something I couldn't understand."

Kylo pauses, and glances at Poe. "Two things I couldn't understand." A shy, small smile. The love of his life, Force-bound to him through the vastness of beyond… and then, too: another Force-sensitive. Powerful, slumbering.

"She is the key to getting Uncle Luke to come home. I am sure of it. The three of us will be able to defeat Snoke for good." 

There's such hope in Leia's eyes, now. Cautious hope, yes, but the kind of cautious hope that longs to rush forth and fill the world with light and warmth.

"If you believe it's possible… _Kylo_ … then I will do whatever it takes to help you," she promises. "Because of you, we are safe from the terrible threat that Starkiller Base posed to us. To the whole galaxy. If you believe you can truly bring down Snoke… bring home Luke… whatever aid you need is yours."

Poe steps in closer to Kylo, keeping hold of his hand but pressing in against his arm. Wanting to offer him comfort, support, but also wanting his General to see what her son means to him. How much her most daring pilot trusts the man he's brought home.

Kylo's hand slithers out of Poe's grasp, but only so he can hook it around his waist, gripping his hip. Eyes closing, he tilts sideways, letting his temple brush against his Pilot's. Just a little thing, just… needing the surety of his lover to ground him. He feels so very out of his depth, here, and he needs to be less cautious, less afraid. 

"I need a ship, and a pilot." Well, he already has a pilot. Judging by the sudden press of Poe against him, he's not going to accept any alternatives. "And his droid." 

He is, of course, non-negotiable. Or so Poe keeps telling him. 

Leia actually smiles. It's a careful one, but obviously genuine: a rush of warmth and _hope_ at seeing her son look happy. It no doubt helps that his chosen other half is Poe, and Leia trusts Poe, so their relationship gives more weight to Kylo's words.

Although… Poe is confident Leia would have trusted him without it. Not out of complacency or desperation, but because she just _knows_. Sometimes people forget Leia Organa is Force-sensitive too – because she's not a Jedi, like her brother – but it's a mistake to do so.

"With your permission, General," Poe adds, with a nod. Old habits.

"Of course," Leia answers. "If this is what you need to do, then you have my full support."

" _If I die, avenge me_ ," Kylo thinks to Poe, and holds him so tight it must borderline be uncomfortable, and breathes in his hair. A long, long squeeze and then he lets go. 

Lets go, and sort of… well. He doesn't walk any closer to his mother, but he looks like a giant, lost little boy. "…Mom, I…" Abort. Abort. Pull up. 

That's all the initiation Leia needs. As soon as she sees what her son is trying to do, she moves in and pulls him into a hug before he can lose his nerve. The height difference between them is significant, but somehow she manages to wrap him in completely, holding him close. Holding him tight. Almost as if she doesn't dare let go of him again, in case it means another fifteen years apart.

Kylo _flinches_ just for an instant (hard to ignore that automatic response, now), but then he wraps his longer arms around her and pulls her into his chest. He has to bend, now, more so than he did the last time they embraced. Has to drop his head to rest on hers, and it's strange. She used to be so tall to him, and now she isn't. But it's only the physical side of her that's lesser than him, and she blazes as brightly in the Force and in his mind as she ever did. He holds on as tight as he dares, hands tangling into her jacket, a broken little breath of pain of a man who's wanted this for far too long.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, into hair that still smells of her, smells of _home_ , and jolts him with sense-memory of a time long, long ago. "I'm so sorry." 

"I know," Leia whispers back. "I know. It's OK. It's OK. You're home."

She holds on tighter still, her whole world so obviously breaking and being remade with every breath. Poe can only guess at what it must feel like, but what he imagines is more intense than there exist words to say.

"I want to make it right," Kylo says, voice so soft that only the three of them could ever hear. "I want to undo all the wrong I did. I can't bring back the people I killed. I can't… but I can stop him ever doing to anyone else what he did to me." Another breath, this one shaking him from head to toe. 

"I can stop him. I know I can. I couldn't before, but I can now. Poe… Poe saved me, Mom. He wouldn't let me lie to myself any more. He…" Tighter fingers, and he's fighting to stay in the moment. "He saved me. He made me come home." _Thank you_ comes the thought, across their bond. Combined with a call for him to come over. Not a command, but a request. He wants them both, right now. Needs them both. 

"I know," Leia says again, but it's more than just reassurance. "I didn't understand it at the time… but I do now. I know what _he_ did." She does not deign to say Snoke's name out loud, but it's clear who she means. "And I… I'm sorry too. I should never have sent you away. I thought I was helping, but… I should never have done it."

"You thought you were protecting me. But in all truth, I don't know what more anyone could do to stop him. He is… strong," Kylo says, ruefully. "He is skilled at mental manipulation. I'm not sure how you could have prevented what he did to me, even if you kept me at your coat-tails for the rest of my life." 

Poe, meanwhile, feels Kylo call him over through their Force-bond, and he… hesitates. Surely this is not something he should intrude upon. It's strange enough being present for it. He doesn't quite dare move, caught between the need to give them space, and the desire to do what Kylo wants.

Which is when Leia – obviously sensing some of this in the Force – pulls back just enough to look over at Poe, holding out a hand and gesturing him in closer. And the pilot, for his part, seems very much like a man who wants to run for the nearest X-Wing.

It's very much cheating, but Kylo drags Poe an inch or two closer with the Force. Not all the way, but his feet slide over the ground. _Come_. Poe's as much a part of his family as his mother, and Kylo needs them both right now. He considers saying something mentally, but then: "Poe Dameron, you're stuck with us, now. You're part of this family, good or bad, and you need to come over here because if **I** can do it, then so can you." 

_Part of this family_.

Something in Poe just breaks at that. He knows – has known for days – that he's bound to Kylo, heart and soul, for the rest of his life. But somehow, that just will not correlate with the rest of it. With the idea of being part of his family, _that_ family, even peripherally. Every time he tries to think about it, he just gets some kind of mental error message, like his brain can't process the concept properly.

And then Leia manages to get hold of him and pull him in closer, and _General Organa is hugging him_ and his mind just shorts out all over again.

But he doesn't pull away. By the Force, no. He'd do anything for these two, and it shows.

Kylo's arms are big enough to hug them both at once, and he looks rather strangely like an over-sized black bird with two little brightly coloured birds under his wings. Which, considering he feels about five inches tall, is so jarring as to make him laugh. He rubs his cheek against one mess of hair, then the other, and he feels… he feels… safe. Loved. Wanted, and welcomed.

"Mom, is it okay if you adopt my – ah – boyfriend for good, now? Because he's coming to any dinner I go to and I'm not letting him out of my sight for more than an hour at a time if possible in case anything happens to him." His tone is a little strained, trying for levity and clearly layering something else in. Some difficult conversation about 'oh by the way, he's my soulmate and now you have two of us and not just one adult man to cope with and I need a room with a big bed and also another place at the dinner table'. 

Leia steps back just enough to look at the two of them, though she keeps one of Kylo's hands in her own. And when she smiles, it's a smile full of warmth and affection, that somehow makes the whole clearing feel as though it's glowing.

"Of course," she answers, speaking to her son but looking at Poe, as if wanting to make him see how much she means what she's saying. "He's always been special, even if he never quite lets me convince him of it."

Her eyes go to Kylo now. "I… took the liberty of preparing quarters for you. When Poe told me what had happened, I dared to hope that you would really come back, and… I wanted to be ready when you did."

"If there's X-Wing pilot covers on the bed I will throw them into the nearest lake," Kylo replies quickly, without even thinking. And then looks down in horror at Poe. "…I… uh. Not that I _dislike_ X-Wing pilots…" It was just an old joke, something he realises Poe hadn't been around to hear the start of. "…just… sheets." 

Not making this any better, is he? He pushes his face into Poe's neck and groans. Damnit. "…can we pretend I didn't say anything and just get to the part where people talk about normal things, please?" 

Leia laughs, and exchanges a look with Poe, who is still clearly trying to process all this. "I'll let my son explain that one to you in his own time," she says, gently.

"That might be for the best," Poe agrees, with a little grin.

"You can go over there when you're ready," Leia says. "You'll know the one, Poe: the separate block that was supposed to be for me. The one I turned down because I much prefer to be in the centre of the base, surrounded by my people." She smiles, knowingly. "The one you turned down for precisely the same reason."

"…I know where you mean," Poe manages, trying not to blush – partly because of the comment, but mostly because he _does_ know where Leia means, and he's confident she's chosen that particular place because it's more secluded than anywhere else. More suitable for a somewhat reclusive Sith and his pilot lover.

Somewhere the sound won't carry.

Kylo Ren is now literally trying to hide behind a man who is nearly a foot shorter than him, his cheeks hot with embarrassment and absolutely steadfastly refusing to lift his face from where he's pushed it. If it wouldn't sound whiny, there'd be a drawn out: 'Mommmmmm' right about now. Instead he just mumbles something incoherent and wonders why he left his helmet somewhere that isn't here. Seemed like a good idea at the time. 

"I… will give you two some time," Leia says. "Take the night. I will have a ship prepared for you to go to Jakku in the morning."

"Thank you, General," Poe answers, mostly on instinct.

She smiles. "Leia," she corrects. "You really must start calling me Leia."

Now Poe does blush. A lot. "Uh… right, yes, of course… General… Leia," he manages, and then closes his eyes in embarrassment for a moment. "Give me time."

"You'll get there in the end," Leia tells him, brightly. She pats her most daring pilot on the shoulder, then grips her son's hand tight once more. "I'm here if you need me."

And then, with the kind of smile that hasn't graced her face in far too long, Leia Organa gives them both a nod, and leaves them alone in the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, for those who may be interested, we have a few links to share with you:
> 
> Davechicken writes books! And she'd love it if you checked them out: [DC Bastien](http://www.dcbastien.com)
> 
> And, Shadow Side wrote a teeny little prequel to this fic, which takes place on D'Qar the night before Poe first leaves for Jakku. It is here: [Departure Time](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5886088)
> 
> (She also wrote a dark twisted thing full of badness that you might like, if you like things that are dark and twisted: [Disavowed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5935837))


	24. Welcome To D'Qar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return! Today, we bring you this: in which the boys celebrate their reunion, in exactly the way you expect!

In the wake of Leia Organa's departure, silence prevails.

There is a long pause before Kylo speaks, and it's still muffled into Poe's neck. "She likes you. I told you." He really doesn't want to handle the other part. The part where his mother now apparently knows he has a lover, and where it's all awkward and he doesn't think the heat in his cheeks will ever truly go away.

It was easier when all he had to face was the astromech.

Poe is still staring after Leia like he doesn't quite know what just happened. "…Yeah, I'm getting that sense," he says. "I mean, I'm a good pilot, and she trusts me, and that's always been helpful, but…"

But General Organa just _hugged_ him and that's… _weird_. Good-weird.

He turns and tightens his arms around Kylo. "Are you all right?"

Kylo's hands grip him tighter in reply. "You honestly value yourself solely in your cockpit skills, after all this time?" A huff, and he bites at Poe's earlobe. "Your heart is pure Light, you never surrender, even when you _do_ , you fight even when the thing you're fighting could crush you, and you genuinely _want_ to make other people happy. You are an absolute idiot, Poe Dameron. You're not a pilot, you're a ray of sunshine made into Human form. No, you're a whole damn supernova, but you don't destroy or even fade. You just keep _going_."

Poe is dumb, Kylo decides. He's too busy shining brightly to light everyone else's faces that he doesn't see the glow that comes from inside of him. "And you're the first Sith without the Force. And you just saved billions of lives. And you just broke the Supreme Leader's right hand man out of years of Force-conditioning, when even Master Luke Skywalker didn't know how. So you listen when I tell you I love you, and she will too if she doesn't already."

Eyes shut, Kylo nods. He… well. It hurt. A lot. And it was difficult, and awkward, and painful. But it's over. It's over, and he's… home. "I couldn't have done that without you. I'd probably have attempted to break orbit using only the Force."

Poe blushes all over again at the compliments, smiling and… sort of letting himself see it. A little. How the other man sees him. How… other people probably see him too, minus the obvious exceptions.

"I'm glad I could help," he answers. "I knew you needed to do that. Knew it would go a long way towards making all of this feel right."

He smiles more, curling in tighter, resting his head on the other man's chest. "And now… I have you all to myself, safe and free in the middle of my base, where we don't have to worry about jungle Rancors or ancient Sith tests or how much longer we can survive on fruit and ration packs…"

"Is it wrong that I sort of miss that?" Kylo asks, with a knowing little smile. "I know I shouldn't, but… it was good, wasn't it? Not sure how long we'd survive, scraping together what bits of joy we could, the terror making it mean more…"

Not that it will mean less, now. It's just a different terror. A galaxy-spanning one, not a personal 'will we starve to death' one.

"I'm still going to fuck you so hard you can't walk straight in the morning. Or for a week." Oops. So much for being shy, though thankfully no one is around to hear it.

Poe misses it a little, too. He feels sort of like he shouldn't but he does. There is something almost soothing about being shut off from the rest of the galaxy, and – on some level – he liked it. Not that he could ever regret coming back, of course. Not when his life, his whole world, is here.

And, now that Kylo is too, that's never been more true.

He grins against his lover's chest. "I want nothing more, and nothing less," he answers. This is quite an understatement. They've been apart for days. The last time they were properly together… was that night in Revan's temple. And the more Poe remembers this, the more his blood starts to burn with need.

"…do you think anyone will… hear?" Kylo shouldn't ask, but he is. Hands sliding down over Poe's back, towards his ass, pulling him in closer.

He makes a concerted effort to try block everyone else out from inside of his head, tries to think of nothing but Poe's face and the expression he makes when he's stuffed full of his dick.

…not that he has _anything resembling lube_ on him right now. "…we could… how… far is this block?" Because it's vitally important that he remind Poe just how much he wants him. Which is a lot. And right now. Right _now_ apparently.

"…I think people will hear," Poe answers, because it's true. It's also clear from his voice that 'people will hear' and 'therefore we shouldn't' aren't causally connected in his mind. Certainly not now, at least. "And… it's a good few minutes' walk down. Past all the landing pads."

Too far. Far too far.

This is a very bad idea.

All of a sudden, Poe slips out of Kylo's arms, pushes him – firmly but not at all violently – into the nearest tree, and drops down onto his knees. He hesitates just a fraction of a second, then, in case Kylo plans to tell him to stop, but it's obvious what he'll do if not told otherwise.

Damn, damn, damn, damn… Kylo's eyes go immediately black at the push, and he doesn't fight it one bit. He's been so wound up without Poe, half from fear for his lover's (and his own) safety, and half because… he still has years and years of celibacy that apparently covered over a monster of epic proportions. 

Fingers go straight to the back of Poe's head, and tug him inexorably closer. Kylo's lips part, and he gazes down with a terrible, terrible hunger. "I've needed you," he whispers. "So much I thought I might explode." 

The rest of the base could likely walk in on them now and Kylo would fling them away with the Force. There's a thing called decorum, and then there's a thing called 'Poe Dameron on his knees'. One of them will always trump the other. 

Poe stares up at him, his own eyes dark with desire and longing and _craving_. "I've needed you too," he answers, like it's the surest truth in the universe. Because it is. " _Master_."

The word feels like coming home. Like everything falling into place. Like all he has to do is utter it and everything goes slow and still and there's no question of anything. Not what he wants, what he needs, what he'll do, what he'll give. No question.

He lifts his hands, starting to pull Kylo's robes open, reaching for the fastenings on his pants just underneath. Not intent on stripping him any more than is necessary, but _needing_ access _now_.

"Make it good for me," Kylo rumbles, his voice pitched lower, like the very depths of space, like the gravity-well of a black hole. "Show me how much you've missed me. Show me how much you love me. Take me right to the brink, and keep me there. _Because I'm going to fuck you into this tree when I'm ready_." 

A slam of his mind against Poe's, visions of days in a dark room alone. A frustrated need, a fear and a longing and a knowledge of the vast distance between them. Alone, all alone. No one to confide in, no one to see that under the mask Kylo Ren was literally held together by sheer force of agony. 

"Get me so hard you gag on my dick. I'll push your head down so far you'll see stars and you'll forget what oxygen is, and you won't even _need_ it like you need **me**." 

Fastenings undone, clothing pulled aside, and the other man's beautiful cock is finally within Poe's reach. But… he looks up, first.

"I need _nothing_ like I need **you** ," he says, his voice rough with desire and with meaning.

And – without waiting for a response – he wraps his lips around Kylo's cock and starts sucking him. _Hard_. No real warm-up, no run-in, just straight down to the root, and then back, and then down again, holding the position for as long as he dares.

He needs this. Needs to do this so badly that his blood is _burning_ for it, and his own arousal shoots through the non-existent roof in response. When oxygen becomes a necessity, he pulls back with a breathy gasp, staring up again, eyes already distant with bliss, and then he swallows his lover's cock right back down once more, moving with all the energy, with all the force, he can muster.

"And I need you more than the Force," Kylo tells him, hands pulling hard on those beautiful curls of his, eyes never leaving his lover's. Poe's so damned perfect when he kneels; the way his eyes go dark and his lashes seem to go on forever. The way his lips part around his shaft, the way Kylo's balls slap against his chin when he fucks up and into his throat.

"My Apprentice, my heart, my Light…" All the way in, holding him still and making sure his eyes water. A hiss and a press of fingernails into his scalp, grinding his pelvis against the other man's face. "…my _love_ , my **pilot** …" 

He pushes so far into Poe's head that all he can do is feel, taking over even his ability to breathe for a moment. He rushes his senses through all of Poe's body, making him aware of every last place the Force curls through him, and then holds him still as he starts to ride his face like a pilot does a solar flare.

"When the galaxy is saved, they will sing our praises. Darth Kylo and his beloved Pilot Poe. The saviours of all. They will know our names and bathe them in glory, but nothing will compare, will come _close_ to understanding how utterly you are **mine** , Poe…" 

" _Yes,_ " Poe thinks, given that he can't answer out loud. " _Yes, yours, yours, anything…_ "

And the feeling of the other man pushing into his mind like that is… it's just too wonderful for words. Too perfect, too right, too everything he needs. His mind falls open as his body would – as his body _is_ – letting Kylo go as deep as he wants. Letting him take and claim and _own_ , without question.

His mouth, lips, throat, they bend to the other man's will as well. He can't do much of his own volition now that Kylo has taken control, but if that's what his lover wants, Poe is more than happy to offer it to him. To open up as much as he can, giving and giving and giving, needing to make Kylo's heart sing with bliss.

And with Darkness. Oh yes, that too.

Kylo takes Poe's body as hard as it is freely offered, pushes over his tongue and down into his throat, riding the coursing, hungry waves of pleasure. He can feel Poe's own enjoyment, feel how right – how like coming _home_ in the truest sense this is. Here, free from the First Order. Free, even, from the Sith. Not controlled by the Resistance, but here because they both decided they wanted to be. It's wonderful, and it's barely any time before Kylo has to pull Poe's mouth away from him. 

A hand made of the Force, wrapped around his throat and lifting Poe up and up and up. A snick of teeth into swollen, wet lips and then a push of his tongue to echo the push into his mind. They have no lube here, but Kylo figures he can work something out, all the same.

Invisible Force-chains sneak down from the tree, curling around Poe, swirling around his wrists and tugging them above his head. Kylo's clearly getting more subtle with his touches, or more focussed. He steps back just slightly – clad in black from head to toe and with only his face and his _very_ proud cock visible – and his fingers describe swirls in the air as he unzips the other man's flight suit, starting at the collar and working his way down. Down, and to the fastenings around his waist, starting to peel open his pants and bare him for more. He knows the not-there touch will mean just as much to Poe as the real ones that will follow, and this way he gets to watch the expressions on his face.

"How hard do you want this, Poe? How hard should I make you scream?" 

"Hard enough to overrule my attempts not to," Poe answers, his whole body shaking in delight at being pulled up like that. At the memories it provokes…

 _…that night on Eigengrau, the night his lover tied him to the tree near the oasis; the night Kylo tortured him, fucked him, nigh-on broke his mind in two… the night that_ shines _in Poe Dameron's mind, a ceaseless beacon of wanting…_

He gasps as he's stripped, all without a hand on him, his eyes going hazier as the pleasure of it all gradually pushes him deeper.

"… _Yes_ ," he gasps, when it starts to get too much. Or, what common sense would call 'too much' and Poe Dameron calls 'not quite enough but close'.

There better be no one listening. Especially when Kylo gestures in front of Poe's face, two fingers in the air and twisting as their echo spears in between his clothed thighs. He eases Poe's body around the intrusion, making sure it's just a dull, thudding stretch and doesn't actually _tear_ him inside, smiling with rapt longing. 

The pressure on his wrists increases, so his whole weight hangs from them. So his shoulders and his arms scream with the tension, so he feels it sing along every nerve-ending. Kylo smirks, and smashes his mouth over Poe's as he opens his lips to cry out, swallowing the noise whole as he pushes fabric down and down and steps into the triangle between Poe's thighs and the rucked-down fabric between his ankles. Presses his fully clothed body against flush, warm skin. Fucks his mouth as he fucks his ass, urging him ever wider, just teasing at that spot inside of him.

If they weren't so damned needy, if it hadn't been so long since they last drank their fill, Kylo would likely draw this out better. But absence makes the dick grow harder, and emotion makes the heart need faster. He breaks from the kiss and then it's real fingers, not the Force, as he makes wave of heat and cold alternate through Poe's mind and body. Like being dunked from one pool to the other, the shock of the change as sharp as the sensation itself.

"I'm going to fuck you, Poe, like you should be. Fuck you until you're convinced you can't take a single other thrust, but desperate to try anyway. I'm going to…" a hand in his hair, pulling his neck back and teeth sinking in over the front of his throat. No _way_ will he get out of that love-bite without everyone seeing he's been most thoroughly claimed. 

Poe is trying very, very hard not to scream. This is difficult at the best of times – he's a vocal man and sees no inherent problem in this – but right _now_ he is suddenly very aware of the fact that they're not exactly that far away from the base where everyone he knows actually lives. And _is_ , right now.

On the other hand… Kylo has him so gloriously, wonderfully _caught_ that he doesn't stand a damned chance. The push of the Force inside him – what even _is_ sex when your boyfriend can't do _that_ to you? – followed by actual fingers, makes his whole body shake, the pain in his wrists growing and growing. His mind slipping. His grip on reality – on anything – starting to go sideways as his lover, his _master_ , overwhelms him on every front.

And that _mark_ on his throat. The mark that will give away everything. The mark that will leave no one in any doubt as to what this relationship really is.

"…Please…" he gasps, still fighting back the scream that the word wants to be.

Please, mercy. Please, more. Please, don't stop. Please, _anything_.

Kylo has three fingers inside of Poe, three fingers that jab and swirl and spread mercilessly. His teeth in the column of his throat, his cheeks going hollow as he sucks fiercely and laps with his tongue in the vacuum that swallowing creates. Unless Poe starts wearing scarves or taking a leaf out of Kylo's own Big Book Of Sith Fashion, then there'll be no hiding the hickey he's giving him.

He's marking his territory, making sure everyone knows Poe is owned. He can – and has, and will – do far, far worse to his mind and his body, but most of that will never show, never leave a trace. This will.

Hands that lift his thighs up, making them wrap around his waist. A slide of his dick between Poe's legs, not quite pushing inside. Rubbing at his balls and behind, teasing him relentlessly. He lifts from his throat and _snarls_. " **Scream for me, Dameron** ," and yanks him so hard down his wrists are almost scraped clean of skin, the friction against the Force as sure as it would be against rope or durasteel, as he breaches him with his cock, giving him that pressure inside he knows he needs. 

And Poe Dameron screams. All sense of restraint drops out of him; all of his desire to keep this at least slightly quiet subsumed all at once under his lover's order.

Well. That, and the pain. It would be hard not to scream from the pain alone. Even with all of his recent practice, it's nigh-on impossible to stop his mind whiting out for a second at the way that feels; the way his wrists jolt and his body just _surrenders_ to the intrusion.

He drops his head forward, hanging in the Force-ropes, the strength fading out of his limbs, leaving him helpless, pliable, in Kylo's grip.

And _oh_ but he's needed this more than _anything_.

"Please," he whispers, throat rough from the scream. "Please… I'm yours… I'm yours… take me back, claim me all over again…"

Kylo loves the sounds Poe makes almost as much as he likes the sensation of his welcoming, tight heat. Almost as much as he likes the flashfire flare of feeling through the Force, the exploding _pleasurepain_ that is the place where Light meets Dark. 

…there's no way people don't realise he's reaming his Pilot right now, is there? Well. Damn.

Dam _eron_. 

Hands cupping his face, thumbs brushing under his jaw, over his throat, and a terrifyingly rough and ready shunt of his hips up and into the man hanging helpless from his will alone. He lets go of his wrists, the next buck up and in slamming him backwards and into the tree. One hand staying on his neck – foreheads touching – the other scratching white-hot lines down his exposed chest and to his aching cock. 

" _Mine_ ," Kylo rumbles, low like thunder, like an engine breaking atmosphere. "Only mine. My Pilot. My lover. My heart." 

He's not going to last long like this, and he makes sure Poe knows it, somewhere in his head. Makes sure he knows that this can be as rough and as dirty as they both need it to be, because _later_ he plans on tying him to whatever bed they've got and eating every last bit of him up. 

" _Yours_ ," Poe murmurs in reply. "All yours. Only yours. Always yours. Please… please… I'm so close… so close… Master, please…"

He really is. The other man may have only just pushed into him physically, but he's been _fucking_ him far longer than that, and Poe doesn't know how much longer he can hold out.

Only that it isn't long.

"Please," he keeps on begging, desperate – oh yes – but obedient. "Please… please…"

Kylo wraps his hand around Poe's cock, the familiar weight of it so comforting, even though the leather of his glove. He lacks some of the finer dexterity like this, but he knows the harsh distance will be a bliss all of its own for Poe. He twists his wrist, tugging and yanking and still holding his throat, feeling him breathing, thumb over the darkening bruise-mark at his jugular… 

Into his mind, out. In synch with each sharp, greedy rut up and in. In and out, the feeling more sound than anything else. Like the tidal pulse of blood, the spin of the planet, the push-and-pull between Light-and-Dark and Kylo's breath is harsh and hot over Poe's face.

" _Come for me, Dameron_ ," he orders, intent on riding his ass until Poe literally can't take any more pleasure. "Come apart for me." 

That's all the impetus Poe needs. Kylo has barely finished speaking when completion rips through Poe's body, making him scream all over again – rough and broken – as much as is possible with that hand on his throat. Which – thanks to a certain amount of recent practice – is still quite a lot.

He comes. And he comes. He screams again as a second rush of pleasure blazes through him, in the wake of the first, breaking him mentally, emotionally, in half, and then in half again.

" _ **Yes!**_ " he howls, with all he's got left. " _ **Kylo, yes!**_ "

Well. Anyone overhearing _that_ won't be left with any doubts in their mind as to what's going on.

The explosion of Poe's own climax is so precious, so very, very precious. It reminds Kylo every time that he can do this – can do good things – can use his own Dark and not just for wicked, nasty, evil things. He smiles as wide as his face will go, another bubble of laughter and then he's slamming his forehead against Poe's so hard it makes his own skull ring with it, still stroking him through any last shocks of pleasure as he comes into his lover. That clenching, tight, dark space that belongs to him and him alone, that he worships at the altar of, that he offers his heart and soul to.

Kylo chokes out Poe's name as he comes, his voice quieter, but no less wrought. He keeps moving until he can't, and then he collapses between Poe's legs, and only the tree keeps them from falling flat to the grass below. 

"…I needed that…" Poe manages, somehow, sounding… well. Sounding like a man who has just been resoundingly, violently fucked out of his mind. "That… good. Yes. _Fuck_."

Coherence is for people who have _not_ just been resoundingly, violently fucked out of their mind.

He can't do much right now, but he tries to curl in as far as he can, every second of contact continuing to soothe the need, deep down. To remind him that he has his lover back, that he's alive, that they're both alive.

That, in this moment, everything is better than it has ever been before.

"So did I," Kylo says, with a knowing little smile. "More than you could know." He lets Poe's softening cock fall gently between them, stroking the sticky white mess into his stomach with a leathered thumb. Lets go of his throat, and another thumb keeping his head tilted back to trail softer kisses in the wake of their shared happy ending.

"I love you so much. I missed you so much. When I thought – when you screamed through the Force and then you went quiet, I was so afraid…" Kylo kisses over the sore space, not even guilty about that. "I broke Hux's nose and I think I gave half the base a heart attack on my way to get you back." 

"You saved my life," Poe whispers. He hasn't had the chance to process it properly, yet: too focused on surviving and coming home and then the whole thing with General Organa and then _this_ , and… it hits him, now. "You saved my life. If you hadn't come after me…"

He wouldn't have gotten off Starkiller Base in time. Even running flat-out towards the nearest hangar bay. It would never have happened.

"Just returning the favour," Kylo points out. "I wouldn't _have_ a life to live, if I lost you." And he hadn't even – at the time – regretted the very real possibility that his plan to kill Snoke had just suffered a worse defeat than if he tried to stab him with a commissary spork. 

More kisses, and he wraps his arms around Poe, cuddling close to his chest, pinning him to the tree, still. He can keep this position up for some time, yet. 

"But you did it. You got your team to blow up that awful death hole. Do you know how many people you just saved?" _You_ not _we_. All Kylo did was give them a map and flip a switch. Less personal risk involved in that. 

Poe smiles. "They're the best," he says, meaning it so very much. "It's how we operate. One-in-a-million shots are our specialty."

He's so proud of his squadron right now. That much is still settling in, too. They destroyed the Starkiller. That hateful thing is no more.

"But… this was a group effort, Kylo," he reminds the other man, gently. "We couldn't have done this without you."

And they all know that.

"I didn't really contribute, other than blowing up a few TIEs," Kylo demurs. "But either way, it's gone. And Snoke will be reeling from the loss. The investment they poured into that base… it will take them a long time to recover properly. If they even do at all…" 

"I'm certain they'll try," Poe answers, wryly. "We'll just have to be ready."

He pushes in for a gentle kiss, just enjoying the closeness, now. Somewhat aware that things are going to get interesting when he tries to stand up on his own.

"…do you think I can pass wiping the past… ten minutes of audible memory from the base off as… morally justified?" Kylo asks, with more than a hint of mischief. "Or should I ask their permission, first?"

Fingers glancing, lips pecking, and then pulling back, and then more tiny little kisses and a chest that sort of aches but in all the good ways. 

"I don't think you should wipe _all_ of their memories," Poe points out, despite the fact that it _would_ make this next part a little easier. "I think… they'll just have to deal with it."

He just hopes that no one was too close by for the… and… yes.

Oh dear.

Kylo pushes his face into Poe's neck. "You might have no shame, but you forget you're my… first. And frankly, I just brought you home to my mother and then nailed you within earshot of everyone you work with…" 

"I have… some shame," the pilot insists. "I just meant… I'm not afraid of them knowing. Not all the details, no, but… I'm not afraid for one second to admit how much I love you. How much I trust you."

"…it's still weird, Poe. How do you look them in the eye? I mean… no one will be surprised that I find _you_ attractive…" In fact, Kylo's sure half or more of the base will agree with his assessment, and that makes the jealousy spike all over again. 

Poe meets his eyes. "Kylo. You're beautiful. You're physically stunning. You're powerful. And if you think _any_ one of those things doesn't make you attractive as _fuck_ , then you have rather spectacularly missed the point."

"…you're the only one who thinks that, but really, I don't see how," Kylo mutters. "Not that I want anyone else to think it. But…" He's spent the past fifteen years covered from head to toe. He isn't used to people _looking_ at him. "You can do the talking if anyone asks us relationship questions. Or I might Force-choke them silent." 

"Please resist the urge to Force-choke anyone in my squadron. That's what you have me for. And… Kylo, don't over-think this. You might be surprised by how they react to you, once they come to know you for who you really are."

"If they ask me enough personal questions then I might just do it by accident," he grumbles, though he's only half-serious. "I'm used to silencing anyone who dissents with me, remember. It's going to take a lot to… learn how to socialise…" again. At all. Ever. "I promise I won't kill anyone, though." Just growl. 

Poe presses their foreheads together. "I know. Just remember… you have me. It will be all right."

He closes his eyes for a moment, and then sighs, softly. "We should probably move from this clearing. Anyone paying attention will have noticed that we never came back."

"…you… think they… uh…" Oh damn. Kylo guides Poe's legs down around him, stepping carefully from between his thighs. The worst of the mess is over his own robes, with Poe's belly just streaked with come. And likely – when he pulls out from his lover's ass – his upper thighs, too.

"…we need to start carrying things for… cleaning up. And preparation." Yep. Suncream. 

"…Or we could have sex indoors, like normal people," Poe suggests, just about managing to get through the sentence before he laughs. They've never even _had_ sex indoors. The closest approximation would be the floor of the temple on Eigengrau, which – though roofed – really does not count.

He tries to clean himself up as best he can. Kylo does have a point, though. Supplies would help.

"…how do you even do it on a bed?" Kylo asks, and offers his most adorable confused nerf face. "How does that even work? I can't see it would be comfortable…" 

The Sith pulls out from inside his boyfriend, and then offers the inside of the back of his cloak for cleaning up purposes. And tries to scrub some of the splatter off his own front. 

"It's like doing it on the ground, but softer," Poe tries to explain, realising this is both entirely true and fundamentally wrong. "And… you can sleep afterwards without needing to move."

And there are usually plenty of makeshift ligature points dotted all around you. Which you don't think about until you get yourself a hot, domineering Sith for a boyfriend. And then you do.

A lot.

He tugs his clothing back on, fastening up the front of his flight suit again. It goes some distance towards making him look vaguely presentable, but the expression in his eyes gives everything away. That, the fact that his hair is all over the place, and oh, the large pink lovebite in the centre of his throat.

"I'll have to fuck you extra hard to make up for all that softness, then," Kylo muses. "We're still not letting the droid in until after. It can wait outside and… calibrate… something… the shower, maybe…" 

Oh. Oh… "…showers sound nice, too." In fact, now there's all sorts of places that aren't the ground, a stone floor, a tree or a pile of messy blankets in an escape pod. "And if you hadn't got your ship blown up, we could do that. I guess there's more room in a TIE. Or whatever we get given tomorrow…" 

Poe arches a brow at the comment about his X-Wing. He misses his X-Wing. He's going to have to commandeer himself another, and it takes him days to get the controls calibrated just right. Even with BB-8's help.

"We are not going to Jakku in one of the Interceptors I'm apparently collecting now. I'm hopeful that Gen– that your mother will authorise a shuttle. Even if it won't be as large and impressive as that Upsilon-class monstrosity you're used to…"

"We wouldn't fit the girl in the TIE with us, anyway, so we do need a shuttle. And that… that was… tactical." Kylo frowns. "It also had a nice profile and it made a good impression when it landed. You could _feel_ the fear rising up to meet you…"

Stop sounding so wistful, Kylo. He sighs, sadly. He did enjoy the creature comforts on that ship. 

"You do love to make an entrance," Poe nigh-on purrs, stepping in close again. Because he can. And because he is apparently insatiable. And because being around Kylo does this to him.

Kylo's tone is very drawn, now, remembering so fondly. "You have to; it's the most important part. You make sure the ground is shaking, first. Wave after wave of endless footfalls, and then – when things could go either way – you make sure everyone's watching you. You arrive, and the world stands to attention. Everything turns to you, and cowers, and has no choice but to--" 

Wait… what? Kylo blinks, and then snorts. "Do you ever want to get to a bed, or do you want to sit and talk about docking rings and spatial manoeuvres and making people's knees knock in anticipation?" 

Poe smiles. "I'm a pilot. We're good at multi-tasking. I can do both."

But… they really should move. On account of the being out here for ages thing. He sighs. "But you're right. We'd better be heading off. Come on… I'll show you the way."

And so, as presentable as they're going to get, they set off, back up the path leading towards the base, through the trees and low bushes, towards where Poe landed the TIE Interceptor that…

…that…

…oh, Maker.

The Interceptor sits where he left it, next to the first one, and with an X-Wing on its other side. An X-Wing whose pilot is currently leaning against the wing of his ship, watching the very direction they're approaching from with an odd little look in his eyes.

"You took your time, Dameron," Snap Wexley says, with traces of a smile he's obviously trying to suppress.

"It was tactical," Kylo replies rather quickly. He resists the urge to make a joke about 'debriefing', but only because he's pretty sure the other pilot is about two steps away from trying to punch him out. 

Kylo is suddenly possessed of a need to grab Poe's hand, and he chokes it down, but it certainly is a close-run thing. 

Poe doesn't need the Force to pick up on his lover's emotional state. He grips Kylo's hand tightly – reassuringly – and then turns his attention to his best friend.

"It was certainly that," he says, agreeing with Kylo, aware of how bad it sounds but deciding that, if they're doing this, they're doing it.

Snap headtilts. "Jess and Asty came looking for you before. They got this far and then they heard…" He trails off. He clearly does not need to elaborate on what they heard. "I told them to go do something useful."

He pushes off from the ship he's leaning on, pacing closer. There's a very evaluatory edge to the way he's looking at Kylo, but he is not – overtly – hostile. And Poe knows from experience that, if Snap _was_ feeling hostile, common sense would not stop him from acting on it.

So… this is probably a good sign. So far. Probably.

Apparently after re-meet-the-parent comes meet-the-best-friend. Poe takes a deep breath, and then gestures between the other two men. "Kylo Ren, Temmin Wexley. Snap, to his friends. Snap… Kylo."

Pause. Breathe. Hope they don't go for each other.

Kylo keeps hold of Poe's hand, not caring if it looks like he needs it. He does need it. This is all very traumatic, and his normal response to trauma so far has been to kill people if they didn't go away fast enough. 

He watches as the other man paces closer, his natural instinct to puff up slightly, protectively, defensively. But he doesn't go for his hilt, and he doesn't use the Force. "You may call me Kylo," he tells him, instead. 

Not that many people _do_. But Ren sounds more like the First Order's way of addressing him, and he isn't about to insist on 'Dark Lord' or 'Sir' or 'Lord Ren' when it's one of Poe's actual friends. 

It's clear that Snap is still trying to work out what he thinks about all this. On the one hand, he will have heard all the stories about Kylo Ren, and the things he's done for the First Order. But on the other… there is Poe, with _his_ stories about who Kylo really is underneath. About how he owes his life to the man.

And there's no forgetting Starkiller Base, which would still be a deadly threat to them all, had Kylo not given them the plans and facilitated the attack. Snap knows this all too well. Poe made sure of that.

There's a long, heavy pause, full of silent evaluation and consideration. And then, Snap Wexley holds out a hand.

"Welcome to D'Qar," he says, graciously.

Kylo pauses for a moment, clearly expecting a knife between the ribs. Being welcomed back by your mother is more or less understandable, but… he holds his own hand out (hoping to high heaven he's wiped any traces of… things… from it) and awkwardly shakes Snap's in return.

"…I…" Fuck. Damn. People. Talking. Words. "…thank you." That should be enough, right? He looks less like a murderous Sith and more like a socially awkward young man on their first day in a real job. It's somewhat at odds with his very formal dress. 

Snap breaks into something of a smile at that, obviously glad that all the evidence is still backing up what Poe's told him. And Poe, for his part, gives his best friend quite a look. "'Welcome to D'Qar'?" he repeats, incredulous. Light-hearted. This is clearly how the two of them – for the most part – communicate. "'Welcome to D'Qar'? Kylo gets 'Welcome to D'Qar'? I got punched in the face!"

Still a little sore about that.

Wexley shrugs. "Yeah, you did," he replies, far too easily. "I thought you deserved it at the time. But you talked me round. Plus –" and here he flicks his eyes over to Kylo just for a second, a flicker of something like polite deference in them, "– I don't want to get broken in two when I could be making nice."

"I do likely hit back much harder than you do, Poe," Kylo agrees. "Even if I don't use the Force." He steps a little back, giving them somewhat more room than he normally would. (And not, at all, wanting to hit him anyway for daring to have a history with Poe before Kylo met him. Okay, maybe a little. But not enough to actually swing for his head.) 

"Also, I did save your life. So I at least get a single day before people try to inflict grievous bodily harm, surely? Even my mother said how important you are here." 

"A whole day," Snap agrees, with a grin. "Gotcha. Though if you're as for-real as Poe claims you are… I won't have to swing for you at all. That being said… it's probably redundant to point it out, but if you hurt him I will gladly get myself killed trying to exact vengeance. But so long as you don't, we won't have a problem."

It's clear he doesn't mean anything bad by this, but simply that – all joking aside – he stands by his friend. And doesn't want to see him get hurt. And that he isn't reading too much into the _sounds_ he heard before.

Poe is confident he's going to get _quite_ a talking-to about that the next time they're alone. Whether or not it will be a _good_ talking-to is still hard to say.

"I only hurt him in ways he enjoys," Kylo replies, with rather more devilment than he should. "And absolutely never in ways that would prevent him from flying his ships or living a full and fulfilled life." 

How Poe manages not to blush brighter than his flight suit is difficult to say. He tries hard to look calm and aloof and sensible and suchlike, but then it dawns on him that he's just wandered out of the trees after making several _very_ audible sounds, and is now strolling about holding hands with a Sith Lord whilst sporting a very obvious mark on his throat.

Maybe the ground will open and swallow him up. Maybe if he hopes hard enough that might actually be a thing.

The galaxy steadfastly refuses to oblige.

"Well, that counts, then," Snap concedes, looking half like he's freaking out, and half like he wants to ask ten million questions. "No bad hurting. Good hurting is fine."

"I'm glad we could come to this arrangement," Kylo says, with a polite little nod. It's possible he might actually be evil. Just a little. Perhaps. And if he has to go around meeting _people_ and they insist on having a say in his life, then they can damn well cope with what it means to have a Sith wandering around. A Grey-Sith, but still a Sith. 

"Are you going to transmit it through the Resistance network, or will I get politely warned not to be **too** Dark by everyone Poe's ever smiled at? Because if so, I might need to get an auditorium and make a public agreement with everyone in one go to save time and resources." 

It is difficult to forget he's the son of Leia Organa and Han Solo when he gets going, sometimes. 

Snap's eyebrows go up. "The whole Resistance network, yeah," he answers, easily. When you consider Snap Wexley and Poe Dameron as a – wholly platonic – pair, the crucial thing to remember is that Snap is the snarky one.

Which, if you've met Poe, is saying something.

"We have special codes for it. So we can warn people without the First Order finding out. Though some people on base might just tell you directly because it's easier, but they'll want to do it one-on-one 'cause it makes them feel better."

Poe continues looking like a man who hopes the ground will swallow him up. Soon, please. "Don't make me get the two of you a ring of fire…" he murmurs, and then he starts thinking about Kylo in a ring of fire, and _then_ he starts counting to ten in his head again.

Kylo is used to verbal sparring, at least. He had Hux before he ever had Poe, though he'll happily tell you which of those two he'd rather go toe to toe with. Hint: they aren't ginger.

"Well, if you would be so kind as to send around your little Resistance code – which, let me guess, has some colour-coding involved? You do so love your colour-signs… well, after you've done that, please ensure that anyone who wants to further make an individual pact with me about their potential destruction for Poe's honour if I go evil again makes sure they _knock_ on our door, loudly, wait, and if there's no response directed at them they take a ticket with a number on. I should hate to interrupt important _bonding_ time with my Apprentice." 

"It has colour-coding, yeah. And letters. It also comes with hyperdrive as standard –" a mixed metaphor, yes, but apparently Snap is too amused to care, "– so it could be worse. And… y'know, I completely forgot about you technically being a Sith too, Poe. Should we be calling you 'Darth' now?"

Poe is about to snark something back about 'Commander' being more than sufficient, but then he decides, what the heck, just roll with it.

"Yes. Apparently you should. I was thinking of adopting it as my callsign." Before the rest of you make that decision for me.

"Darth One?" Kylo suggests. "You'll at least not have to cope with two Sith pilots, as I can't fly worth Bantha-crap. And as I've given you back two TIEs, one for every X-Wing we destroyed, each _with_ a hyperdrive, I think you can probably give me a pass on that front, too." 

"Oh, my poor baby," Poe murmurs, thinking of _Black One_ again. "I am going to have to talk to General Organa and –"

"Relax, Dameron, I'm already on it," Snap says, clapping him on the shoulder. "I know how you get when you don't have the _right_ ship at your disposal."

"It gives me a deep sense of unease. Maybe I'll get permission to take one of the Interceptors out…"

"Don't you dare. One false move on someone's scanner and they'll be picking pieces of you out of the forest for weeks."

"If they can _catch_ me."

"Fair point. But you need a set of wings, you take that A-Wing in the south hangar. 'Least until I can fix you up with something better."

"All right. I promise." A pause. "I… should probably make myself scarce before Jess and Asty come looking for me again."

Snap nods. "Probably. I'll tell 'em you're completely fine. Both of you."

"And that I know not to go on a murderous killing spree on _this_ planet," Kylo confirms. "I'm sure I can hold off on my wholesale slaughter until I'm up against the First Order again." 

He squeezes Poe's hand. "Come on. We need to make sure we're in a fit enough state to go back to Jakku in the morning." And then, silently, " _Plus there was something about a bed…?_ " 

"No murderous killing sprees," Snap concurs. "Murderous killing sprees lead to consequences. Bad consequences. Now… I'm gonna go find out where the victory party's at. Nien owes me a drink. I'll see _you_ two later…"

And, with a flash of a smile, Wexley turns and heads off, leaving Poe and Kylo alone, on the increasingly twilit landing pad.

"…That could have gone worse," Poe murmurs.

"No one ended up bleeding. Although do all Resistance pilots act like they want to snark at you until you kiss them?" Kylo tries to keep a straight face when he asks that, he really, really does. 

And when Poe shoots him a look, he grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a firm, loving kiss. "Don't worry. My targets locked onto you, and you alone, Dameron. _You_ caught my attention, and it's never wavered once." 

Poe kisses him back, and then – before he can stop himself – he grins. "Plenty of them act like they want to snark at you until you kiss them," he answers, also before he can stop himself. "You might say they gravitate towards it…"

…OK, seriously, Dameron, not now…

"Am I going to need to watch my six?" Kylo asks, hand on Poe's neck gripping harder. "Or yours? Because you know I don't share. And we should make it _abundantly_ clear that this is a **permanent** arrangement." 

Lips over his, and – okay – apparently then he's walking him backwards into the nearest ship… " _You_ are my Pilot. No one else gets to ride my stick, Poe." 

"Absolutely not," Poe insists, very truthfully. "I have _no_ intention of sharing, either. I was merely agreeing with you. From past experience."

Because it's true. And because you're really hot when you're being all possessive.

"And I think we can safely say that no one on base is going to risk flirting with _me_ in the next forever…"

Kylo is good at looming. Even if he weren't as tall as he is, he has the kind of presence that means he can appear to be about seven foot tall and angry just by breathing. He lowers his head just a fraction, a rough undertone to his voice. 

"And what about you flirting with _them_?" 

"I am _yours_ , remember?" Poe says, softly, his eyes darkening, his whole posture changing subtly but tellingly. If they weren't still out on the landing pad, he might well be dropping to his knees at this point.

His heart races in his chest. He _wants_ , so very badly. But he really is going to have to be more careful about provoking Kylo in the middle of public spaces. They're not alone on Eigengrau anymore.

"You'll be careful to remember that when you offer your smiles so freely," Kylo huffs. Not because he's seen Poe do anything he disagrees with, but more… now he's going to be faced with people Poe knows and likes. And they will all have their versions of him, and Kylo isn't sure he likes even sharing him on a purely platonic level.

The last time he had to do anything like that, Hux had been watching their interrogation, and Kylo had nearly eviscerated him for the affront, and that hadn't even been a _fun_ interrogation.

Hand sliding around from the back of his neck… over to the front. Fingers lingering on the mark that's blossoming. "Quarters. Now." 

This is an idea Poe can get behind. Or have get behind him. Or something.

"You read my mind…" he says, with a wicked little grin, and moves to start walking.

Night is falling on D'Qar, the darkness setting in quickly, sky fading to deeper and deeper blue, save for the orange glow lingering on the horizon. Poe leads the way along the main concourse of the landing pads, passing various ships – mostly X-Wings, and the occasional shuttle – and then on beyond a number of large, duracrete bunkers. The main command centre. Logistics. The mess hall. The primary barracks. The Resistance has been hiding out here for some time now, and they've obviously made themselves something of a home in the process.

At the very far end, a little removed from the gaggle of buildings, is a smaller, separate block right on the edge of the forest. It wouldn't take much to guess that it was designed to house the base's leader, and nor would it take much to guess why Leia Organa turned it down in favour of somewhere right in the heart of the central bunker. This place, that they're approaching now, looks meant for someone a little more reclusive.

Perfect.

Kylo pauses, when they get close. Pauses, and just… looks at the place. His expression is complicated, his eyes… wistful? Before Poe can charge in and things get ahead of them, he grabs his lover's hip and holds him pressed to his side. 

"A moment, please?" He keeps Poe flush to him, and lets out a little… slightly broken sigh. When he sees Poe looking confused, he tilts his head down.

"I did not ever expect really having a home. Not… not truly. And even if it's just one night…" He drops his head onto Poe's. "We have one." 

Poe smiles, all genuine, open emotion now, and leans in, laying a hand on Kylo's chest. "We do. All ours. Well… no. All _yours_."

Somewhere quiet. Peaceful. Serene. Out of earshot. These things are important when you're dating a Sith Lord. Especially if you want any of your allies to be able to look you in the eyes in the morning. Although… possibly he's already burned that bridge. Comprehensively.

A snort, and Kylo slaps Poe's ass very firmly. " **Ours**. I have no home if you're not in it, you dumb flyboy. Maybe you have half your head in the clouds, but there's no _home_ with no love. Otherwise it's just a place your body rests." 

That makes Poe press in even tighter. "Amongst other things," he murmurs, and takes Kylo's hand again. "Come on. I want to find out what being in bed with you is like."

Possibly not his best ever line, but very honest.

"It's probably very loud and likely ends up with it broken," Kylo replies, and lets himself be pulled inside.


	25. One Night On D'Qar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return once again!
> 
> Today, it is with this: in which Poe Dameron and Kylo Ren finally get an actual bed. But not much sleep... ;-)
> 
> EDIT: Now with bonus NSFW content at the end!

The block they've been given has a few more rooms than just the bedroom, and they manage to sort-of-walk-through two of them on the way to said room. Kylo wouldn't remember if any of them were on fire, let alone what amenities they had. Probably not on fire, but Kylo wouldn't put credits on it. 

He's strangely almost reticent, when they get inside. It's real, now. Real. A boyfriend, not just a fuck-toy. A boyfriend who knows his family. A home, even if just for one night. They could almost be a normal couple, not a pair of sexual deviants linked by the Force and a mutual desire for power and pain to swap hands. A partner. A _home_. 

A life Kylo Ren – nor Ben Organa-Solo – was ever meant to have. Either kept away from socialising by a sinister Dark Master, or told he'd need to give up his worldly and emotional attachments to keep himself pure and strong. 

But now he's here. And they make their own rules. And Kylo backs Poe into the bedside dresser, grabbing the front of his flight suit to pull him in for a fierce, loving kiss. 

_Fuck_ , but that's good. Poe nigh-on growls in delight, going into the kiss without a fraction of hesitation and all but wrapping around Kylo in response.

His heart is hammering in his chest again, the realisation that they're _together_ and they have _all night_ finally settling in. And given what happened in the forest… they're obviously both on the same page about having nearly three days of lost ground to make up for.

It is probably a blessing to Kylo that his mother won't have left anything like _rope_ , cuffs, or **chains** lying about, and hopefully she won't have really left any – ah – lubricants in the house, either. It's one thing your mother realising you're sexually active, it's another facing her knowing your own _proclivities_. Kylo shoves a knee between Poe's legs, grinding it into his groin, trying to urge his need higher. 

"You had an image, I believe. Involving a bed…" chasing down his neck, tilting his head back with lips underneath his jaw. "Now would be the time to change your priorities, unless you _want_ to be spread wide and wanting for me…?" 

"Kylo," Poe full-on purrs, flirting with everything he's got. Which – it should be noted – is a lot. "Your priorities are my priorities, remember? _Do whatever you want with me_."

He really should be careful about saying these things. The trouble is… he _needs_ too much to ever let himself be ruled by anything so mundane as common sense.

"Naked. Now." Just two words, and Kylo knows Poe will obey. He bites at his neck one last time, and then stands back to watch him work. "I need to make sure every last inch of you remembers who it belongs to. It's a good job I just fucked you senseless, because now I can pay you the attention you deserve." 

This sends a heady shot of pleasure right to Poe's core – amongst other places – and he obeys at once, starting to strip off, trying to strike a balance between making it look good, and not taking too long. When he's done, when he's stripped to nothing, he stands in front of his lover – close but not crowding – and bows his head. Ready to drop to his knees at a second's notice, but not – this time – presuming.

Not certain, yet, what Kylo has in mind.

A flicker of a touch, but a touch without a hand raised one bit. Just a ghost of a finger over cheek, down and down and down and…

"Get on the bed. Put your hands above your head. And don't dare try to be quiet, tonight. I'll let the whole base know how much a Sith can love, and it will be their own faults if they can't sleep for wishing they were in here with us." 

_Yes_.

Poe has wanted this so badly, since early on in their time on Eigengrau. No matter how much he enjoyed all the outdoor sex – he really, _really_ did – there is something gloriously intimate about being in bed with someone. Even if they then proceed to use their phenomenal strength of will and helpful Force-powers to drive you right out of your mind.

It's the principle of the thing.

He lies back at once, in the centre of the bed, lifting his hands to press them into the pillows up above his head. It's a simple gesture, but it feels so resonant inside his mind; an act leaving him exposed, accepting, _surrendering_ , but one borne of a free choice. He could, after all, refuse. Hesitate. Resist.

He does not.

Kylo smiles, a soft smile. He unfastens the clasps of his hood and the old, worn shred of his grandfather's cloak, and slides them off. Over his shoulders, down to pool at his feet. Then he unhitches his lightsabre, and makes sure Poe is watching. Makes sure he's watching as Kylo's fingers unfasten the heavy leather belt around his midsection, and then he _rips_ the front of his robe, tearing off the trailing fabric between his legs, leaving him dressed only in his tunic and heavy, padded pants. Kylo holds the long, broad swathe of black fabric up… only for his sabre to ignite behind it, and shear it. One strip, then the remainder cut in half. Three sections, a hand's width across and half his height from top to bottom.

The Sith turns his blade off, and lays the hilt gently onto the bedside table. He places two of the fabric strips down onto the bed, and then moves with the first up to Poe's hands. 

Poe's eyes go black as the void of space. It's hard to keep still – especially with that lightsabre in the mix – but he manages it, only flinching just a little in instinct.

"I'm yours," he whispers, watching the other man move in closer with a look of utter, rapt delight in his own eyes. "All yours. Do whatever you want with me…"

Not that he thinks Kylo needs the invitation. Or, indeed, the permission. But… he likes the reminder that he's completely, totally owned. It fills him with a heat that's almost unmatched, a soul-deep pleasure that threatens to overwhelm him every time it rises up.

"Oh, I will. Do you know how difficult it's been? Stuck on a ship filled with lunatics and child-programmed killers? Knowing I had to stay there to save billions, but knowing your warm skin was here, without me?" Kylo rubs his thumb into Poe's palm, then starts to tangle the strip of cloth between the headboard bars, and down around his wrist. A tight knot, and the remainder pushed into his palm for safe-keeping.

"Knowing that you'd fall asleep without me inside of you. Knowing that you'd wash a little more of me off every day, that my smell would fade from your hair. Knowing that your tight little hole would go unfulfilled, your cock spring up without me there to pay it proper attention…" He ties the second hand in place, fingers dancing down over his torso and the inside of his wrist glancing over his groin just briefly. "Did you touch yourself and think of me?" 

"I wanted to," Poe admits, voice suddenly a little rough. "I wanted to so badly that the first night I could hardly think. But… you told me not to. So I waited."

Which is part of the reason he did what he did back out in that clearing. Though only part.

With each tightening of the makeshift ropes, the haze of pleasure in his mind grows stronger, deeper. He's been restrained on multiple occasions around Kylo before – both consensually and, indeed, against his will – sometimes physically, sometimes with only the Force. But this… this is him being tied to his lover's bed, to be _used_ accordingly.

A lot of what they do, a lot of what Poe wants, now, is new to him. This? On some sort-of-but-not-quite-engaged-with level, he's wanted _this_ for a very long time.

Turns out he was waiting for the one and only man who could ever do it to him.

"Good. I didn't, either." Pause. "I took a lot of showers instead." A lot. He'd woken up hard and longing, felt the pressure of his heavy robes sitting on a stiff, hungry dick. But he hadn't abused himself, saving his need for his lover, instead. He lets his fingers spider-walk down the inside of a thigh… down to Poe's ankle, where he next laces the black fabric, pulling him wide open. 

Kylo's thumb slides over the inside of his ankle, above the knot, and he watches with interest how it makes his lover shift and moan. "Did you wake up hard and wanting, Poe? Did you wonder if I felt it through the Force, felt your body and soul calling out to mine?"

" _Ohfuck_ ," Poe murmurs, head rocking back, trying to keep his focus on the moment. "Yes. Yes. I woke up wanting. I went to bed wanting. I flew two days of pre-battle manoeuvres _wanting_. And… yes… I did hope you could feel it. I wanted you to know that I… _yesyes_ … that I was waiting for you. For your voice. Your hands. Your _orders_."

And, despite what happened out in the forest, not at all long ago, it's abundantly clear that need has not subsided one bit.

When Kylo Ren smiles – and means it – his whole face lights up. You wouldn't think him the same man that had slaughtered legions, or who had trained an army of Darksiders. You'd be forgiven for thinking he was another creature entirely. He bends and places a very soft kiss to Poe's hip, his dark hair tumbling gently to brush over his loins in the process.

"Well, I felt it. I felt it, because _I felt it too_ ," he says, and sits back to dance his fingers to the other ankle. That one is spread wide, making Poe stretch out and offer himself. The cloth is firm enough that Poe would have to truly **fight** to break free, and he sits back to admire his handiwork. Golden, glowing skin, trapped in a web of black lines: Kylo's hidden threads tracing over his form, made manifest and real.

"Right now, I have only one command for you: _love me_ and _be my beloved_." Kylo's thumbs move to press into the soles of Poe's feet, jolting where he knows a bundle of nerves go straight up and into the groin. A lap of tongue and a press of teeth over each of his big toes, and then Kylo's kissing his way up the insides of his bared legs, hair dancing over exposed skin as he kisses up to the hip-bones, then down again with a gentle nip of teeth. Up and down, up and down, no pain for the minute, just pleasure. 

Sometimes – sometimes – it feels strange to Poe when Kylo treats him like this. When, even with the restraint, the control, the other man is only loving. He likes it – make no mistake, he _likes_ it – but at the same time, it feels… odd.

Did he know it would be this way, that hot afternoon in the jungle on Eigengrau? Did some part of him process that Kylo would _love_ him as well as command him? That what might have looked – to an outside observer – merely like rough fucking and power exchange could be… well. Could be _this_ , too?

Poe isn't sure. He doesn't doubt the honesty of it, not one bit. But… sometimes he's still surprised by it. Surprised by the lengths the other man will go to for him.

Surprised, and pleased. Most assuredly. That too.

" _Yes_ ," he whispers, softly. _Happily_. "I am yours. All yours. I love you."

Up go Kylo's lips, up and over Poe's sides. The marks of their time in the Sith training grounds are fading from Poe's skin, leaving barely any trace to the outside observer. Kylo had always been as careful as he could not to incapacitate him (other than briefly, sexually) while they were gone. Making sure not to render him incapable of continuing, of following through with the tests there. He wonders how Poe would react if he knew how much Kylo **wanted** to do worse, but he suspects his own desires will always find an equal, opposite push from his beloved.

It's why they work together so well, after all.

Kylo enjoys the chance to linger, the knowledge that he can do this for hours without fear of reprisal or sudden death. The knowledge that they're safe – as safe as can be – and his tongue sneaks out to lick a wet stripe from just in his navel all the way up over his throat. His hands grab at the sheets, knotting in tight as he bites and sucks his way over Poe's neck and collarbones, over his shoulders, up to his biceps. "I'm going to make you want me so badly you can't see, Poe. I'm going to make you so hard you think you could fuck your way through duracrete. I'm going to lick and kiss you inside and out… and _then_ I'm going to fuck you so hard the whole room shakes…" 

" _Please_ ," Poe whispers, in wanting, in hope, in agreement. "Anything. Anything. Make me yours. Leave me _incapable_ of doubting it. Of resisting it."

Not that he ever would, of course.

He arches up into every point of contact, the movement – restricted as it is – reminding him of just how tightly he's held, how firmly he's bound down, giving a little tug on his wrists just so he can feel it all over again. Not because – on any level – he wants to break free.

He doesn't. There's nowhere in the galaxy he'd rather be right now than _here_.

Which is when Kylo Ren bites down on the broad muscle of Poe's shoulder, his teeth sinking in so hard he almost draws blood. He knows where to apply pressure for it to hurt the most, and when he suckles as hard as he does, he knows he's leaving yet more marks all over his lover's skin. This one will be easier to conceal, and will make flying without remembering _impossible_. 

He lifts his head, eyes dark, and grins over to watch his face. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you ache all month. I'm going to take you over, and over. And even though your calves will sting, and your thighs will shake, I'll fuck you every. Damn. Night. Make you wonder if there's even anything left _in_ you for me to fuck **out** of you. And then I'll make you sit on my lap and fly me like that damn X-Wing of yours, like you're on a bombing run and you need to get close enough to shoot your payload all over my chest." 

Poe smiles. "Best pilot in the Resistance, remember?" he says, with every ounce of mental strength he has left. "I'll make you remember why I'm the _only_ one who'll _ever_ fly _you_."

…Apparently he's feeling daring tonight. Given what happened in the forest, this should perhaps not be a surprise. And he means the words in the vein they're spoken.

_Enthusiastically_.

A hand on Poe's throat, all but choking the breath out of him and Kylo bites down on his lip until he tastes blood. Bites down and then forces his tongue inside, fucking his mouth and then – a moment later – his mind just as fiercely. A thrumming, thudding, terrible wave of sensation that makes even Kylo's heart hurt with how much he wants this, wants _him_. 

Away from the kiss, and both hands in his hair, pulling so hard it must sting his eyes terribly. "Only one man gets to ride my dick, Poe. And only one man ever gets to ride my _ass_ , either. Maybe I'll do that, first. Maybe I'll climb on your cock while you're tied down and helpless, unable to do anything but _feel_ whatever your Master lets you feel, slam myself over and over and over, until I'm almost ready to come… and then fuck you just as hard as I fucked myself. Would you like that, _Pilot_? Would you like to watch me bounce on your cock before I let you have mine?" 

" _ **Yes**_ ," Poe gasps, in answer, in delight. He needs this. Needs to be shaped back just the way Kylo wants him. Needs to be broken in half so he remembers, all over again, who he belongs to.

Needs to be reminded what it meant when he first surrendered. What it means every time he surrenders.

Needs to see, again, the proof of who he really is.

"Anything you choose to give me, Master," he murmurs, slowly giving in to the onslaught. "Anything you wish… but yes… I would like that…"

"Wait here." 

It's probably very, very bad timing, but… well. Once you've tied your partner down and got them to the point of begging, then leaping off of them to find lube is probably very bad form. But it will go nicer for both of them if he can find something. Kylo leans up to kiss Poe's forehead, and walks (stiff-legged) into the bathroom.

There isn't a handy thing in the cabinet that says 'sexual aid' on the label. There also isn't any of that wonderful aftersun they nearly ran out of. There's plenty of things that look like they could maybe do, and… wait. That…? He lets his eyes run over the instructions as quickly as he can. It works on broken skin, so it should… theoretically be okay.

It will do. He must make a note to procure some real liquids. Maybe just get lots of medical aftersun for when they're on their mission to Jakku. Jakku is hot. No one will be surprised.

(Well, maybe at the quantities.)

He walks back in, and puts the small tube down beside his sabre hilt. He's still dressed, and he watches Poe's face… then starts to unfasten the cloying, heavy black fabrics and let them fall to his feet, leaving him bare and flush in front of him. He thinks Poe will enjoy the striptease, as unpracticed as it is. 

All Poe can do when Kylo disappears off like that is wait. He works out within seconds where the other man must have gone – and he's in favour of the idea – but at the same time he doesn't want to be alone, and the lack of contact makes his whole body thrum with a strange kind of longing.

And… this may be an aside, but he is going to have to drop by his own – rather less impressive – quarters at some point in the morning. Amongst other things he has _actual_ lubricant in there, and he thinks it's about time Kylo found out what it's supposed to be like.

Which is when Kylo comes back. And starts stripping off his own clothing. And… _fuck_ , but the man is beautiful. Poe watches in obvious appreciation, unconsciously biting his lip from just how badly he _wants_ right now.

"Should I let you watch?" Kylo asks, as he kicks off the last of his clothing, as he bares himself utterly and lets Poe see every inch of him all over again. Two weeks ago and he'd never have even removed his mask. Now… now he's bare from head to toe and his full and swollen cock bounces up against his belly in eager anticipation. 

"Should I let you see me finger myself open and ready for you, or should I make you watch my face and the flexing of my arm as you wonder what my hole looks like, as I get it ready to ride your cock, Poe?" 

"Your face," Poe answers, after only the slightest moment of thought. "I… love it when you look me in the eyes."

When I know you see me. When I know you _notice me_. Plus, the weight of the other man's gaze is almost as good as being fucked in its own right. Kylo just has this way of _getting inside him_ , physically, mentally, emotionally, and Poe can't deny how wonderful that feels.

"You have the most beautiful eyes," Kylo agrees, moving to kneel astride him. Moving to loom above him. He reaches for the bottle and snaps it open, pouring the sticky goop into his hand and warming it gently. "I could stare at them forever. I love to look at you. I love the way you go hazy with need. I love the fierce strength in you…" 

He reaches behind him, and then his own eyes go momentarily unfocussed before snapping back to attention, the sound of slick skin pressing into him, the tension in his upper arm. "Want to ride you so bad. Want you to fill me up, then return the favour. I'd never – ever – let anyone else touch me, Poe. Not ever. You'd have to kill me to get anywhere near fucking me." And that would be necrophilia, of course. "Gonna ride you so hard you think your beloved X-Wings are podracers…" 

Poe actually blushes a little at this. At the compliments. At the _promises_. And then his eyes go wide and dark with delight at the sight of what Kylo is doing, at the look on his face.

At… the idea of what he must be thinking, even if Poe himself can't actually tell. Sometimes you don't need the Force to know.

" _Yes_ ," he whispers. "Please. Take what you need from me. Anything. _Everything_. And know that I will _love it_ when you do."

Kylo's mouth falls open, a flash of bright red tongue and the inside of his mouth as he works two fingers into himself, a moan and a toss of his hair as he bounces up and down on his own hand. It's difficult, and he's never done this to himself before.

"Do you remember by the oasis? After the first time? I was so afraid to come near you, all I could do was watch as you fingered yourself back open and ready for me… I wanted to bite your wrist and make you do it faster, I wanted to fuck you so badly, but I couldn't even let you see me naked…" 

His eyes roll up into his skull as – well – as he slips a third finger in, his movements getting less co-ordinated and more needy. "Passion. _Passion_. That's what got us through. I n-never thought… I'd… want to show you my _heart_ , and I--"

Kylo's other hand grabs out, grounding him on Poe's upper arm, using it like a tow-line, calling out in heated bliss as he bounces in earnest. "Poe!" He lets out a torrent of psychic energy, lets Poe feel how good it is for him, how right, how much he's longing to jump on his cock instead and split himself in two. 

He rides his fingers for two more stuttery, hungry thrusts and then he grabs Poe's cock and holds it still. Eyes on his – slightly unfocused, slightly dazed – and he sits down, impaling himself in one rough, sure gesture. "Wanted to make you scream. Wanted to do things I'd never done, didn't know _how_ to. Wanted to make you feel – to make you know – how… how much I wanted you, how… how my blood burned hotter than a nuclear explosion… wanted… wanted to fuck you so hard you forgot who you were…"

"I remember," Poe says, looking like he's going slightly out of his mind at the sight of the other man, at the _feeling_ of him sinking down on his cock like that. "I wanted you so badly. I didn't understand it. You were supposedly my enemy. It didn't make sense, and yet… it was the surest truth in the universe. And you… the things you did to me, the things you _do_ to me… they're _everything_ , Kylo. _You_ are _everything_."

He's still utterly bowled over by it, by the knowledge that less than two weeks ago, he didn't have any of this. Didn't truly _know_ any of this, certainly not on any conscious level. All he knew was that… something was about to change, though he could never have explained how or why.

" _Force_ , but you feel good." Kylo's voice is rent with how wonderful this feels. It's much better having Poe inside him than his own fingers, and even better seeing how Poe's expression changes when he starts to move.

Kylo doesn't really know if it's normal to swing more one way than another, and he knows for certain that he could never give up _fucking_ Poe, but he definitely can see advantages to this act, too. He leans back, putting his hands on Poe's knees, and rocks as hard and as fast as he can in this position. Each slide down filling him deeper, making him harder, bringing them closer. His cock bounces furiously in front of him, and he calls out in low, wounded need. "Do you love it? Knowing every bit of your body is mine to use, to take, to ride, to love? You're my plaything, and I'm going to bounce on your cock until I don't think I can take it anymore. And you can't do a _thing_ to stop me, Pilot." 

"Of course I love it," Poe answers, sounding increasingly wrecked with every breath. Doubly-so because he's confident – _confident_ – that Kylo won't let him come like this. That he'll drag it out, take him right to the brink, and then fuck him senseless long before he permits any semblance of completion.

It's a deeply wonderful thought. But that doesn't mean it doesn't also drive Poe more than a little crazy.

"I am yours. I haven't forgotten that. I never could. I… _ohfuck, oh… **fuck**_ … I am yours to use however you… however… how… _please, please, please, don't stop_ …"

"I'm going to take you against every surface in this place, if we keep it. I'm going to make you come over every wall, every floor, so if we have visitors you have to fight not to remember the last time I made you scream my name out…" Kylo's arms flex, his chest spread wide and his knees clench against Poe's sides as he tries to tighten around him.

"I'm going to ride you to the stars and back, Poe. I--" and now, he laughs. "I flew a damn _ship_ for you." Crashed. Crashed is probably a better term, and then he falls forwards to hold Poe's shoulders instead, sliding up and down in his lap, trying to find the deepest, best angle. "Let's hope I fly you better."

"You… seem to know what you're doing…" is as much as Poe can manage, rapidly going further and further out of his mind at how _good_ this feels, at what it means that Kylo is _using_ him like this. "I… I…"

He wants to beg. Wants to plead. Wants to scream out in release – even if Kylo doesn't, even if his lover keeps on using him whilst he's exhausted and sated – and wants, more than anything, to feel his mind shatter under the strength of the other man's will.

He _wants_. And it burns through him like nothing else ever could.

"You _what_ , Dameron?" Kylo asks, purring the question like it's the most dangerous honey-trap ever laid. "Tell me… tell me what you _know_." He slams his forehead to Poe's, hips working as fast as he can to get the friction he wants. It's not quite as easy to get it when you're on top like this, but it feels almost enough. Almost. Kylo growls, and then forces in, a sudden _snap_ as he presses into the loudest thoughts his lover offers up to him. 

Poe's mind just _focuses_ at that. He still feels completely, utterly wrecked, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm him, but at the same time… at the same time everything sharpens, the question pushing his awareness to the fore, making him answer. Making him _want_ to answer, even before Kylo pushes into his mind.

Instinct, habit, leads him to answer out loud, his voice not remotely level. "I know I'm yours. Yours to own, yours to hold, yours to love, yours to hurt. I know I _want you_ more than all the words in the universe could declare. I know… I need you so badly I ache when you're not touching me. I know the sight of you makes me want to drop to my knees, not to provoke anything, but because it's _where I belong_. I know every time you touch me, you make me feel more right than I ever thought I could. I know… I love you, deeper and brighter and hotter and darker than anything else in the galaxy. Than _everything_ else in the galaxy."

"Marry me," Kylo blurts out, without the sense to realise that it's probably not the time or the place to ask, when you're bouncing yourself senseless on a lover you've tied to the very first bed you've ever touched with them. "Poe… _marry_ me. I don't – I don't care if we just met, I don't care if barely more than a week ago you tried to kill me. I don't… care about anything that happened before I met you, on Jakku. I need you. I need you, and…"

Hands in Poe's hair, he doesn't even let him answer. He kisses him with all he has, pushing his tongue in and stealing any words and any breath he might have. It's insane, it is, but he knows all the way in his core that Poe is his. Poe could only ever be his, and no one else could ever belong to him, or own him, the way his dark-haired pilot could. 

_**Fuck**_.

The shock in Poe's eyes is unveiled, and clear as the day. As is the shock that flares in his mind, in his chest, in his heart, in his _soul_ , when Kylo goes and says _that_ to him.

It's not what he expected. Not something he's even thought about. It's certainly not something he would have thought the other man might say.

But… it's right. As right as that day in the jungle. As that morning by the oasis. As right as adoration in the light and agony in the darkness, as the burning in his blood and the sense of absolute completion at his core.

He was looking for more than that map when he went to Jakku. And he found it.

"… _yes_ …" he gasps out, when Kylo finally breaks the kiss. "Yes. I will. I'm yours. Always. _Forever_."

"I will make you happy," Kylo promises, speaking the oaths against his cheek, his lips. "I will give you all of me. I will give you my heart, my mind, my body, my soul, my power. I will give it all to you, Poe. You and I are bound, and I want nothing – have _never_ wanted – anything the way I want and **need** you."

Normal people don't do this. Normal people are boring. Normal people aren't fucking themselves insane on Poe's gorgeous cock, or drowning in his eyes, or tied together through the Force, or so perfectly balanced and counter-pointed that they could carry the weight of the galaxy on their shoulders because nothing could knock them off-kilter. 

Kylo smiles, and slams open his mental walls to bear down full force on Poe. He's not afraid of it, not now. Not afraid he'll break him, not afraid he'll unmake him. Not afraid his will could corrupt Poe to a dark that neither of them want, and not afraid that either of them would want it to. 

And then he arches off his lap, and moves between his thighs. Hands under his hips, lifting Poe up, a slap of cold makeshift lube on his cock and a push all the way up and up and up and in. " **Mine**." 

And _that_ , in the wake of the furious assault on his mind, makes Poe's vision go black for a long, long moment. He arches up as much as he can, the makeshift ropes seeming to pull him wider open, wider apart, and he feels… like he's flying. Not like he's behind the controls of a ship, but like he is literally _flying_ , the world a distant haze below, the will of his lover the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

" _Yours_ ," he echoes, the word a promise and a prayer, an affirmation and an acclamation. "Yours, all yours, only and always."

Poe is too beautiful like this. He's beautiful enough at the best of times, all eyes and lashes and hair and cheeks and **smile**. That smile. Even when it's telling you to go fuck yourself, or faced with annihilation, or surrounded by death on all sides… that smile that's never gone for long. Kylo hates how beautiful he looks, could cut his hands on the edges of his grace. Could drown in his gaze, and suffocate in his voice. 

But when he goes – when he does that thing he does – when his soul seems to lurch out of his body and fill it entirely both in one… when his eyes are sightless and his body just a patchwork of _longing_ and **feeling** , when he's so much bigger than he is, and when he's so happy… Kylo knows that he, himself, is not just born of Darkness. Nothing of pure Dark could create such pleasure and love. He knows the Light in him still blazes just as bright, but burns like a flame in the Dark of his soul. The better to show the glow, the brighter to spark into the world… but only because of Poe.

He grabs his hips, and slams him down and down and down, using what little give is left in the ropes, bouncing him as hard as he can. Not enough. Not nearly enough. A snap and the stays fall from the bed, and he flips Poe over and onto his stomach. Arm around his neck, and he's humping his ass as fiercely as he can. "Come for me… come for me, love. Scream my name and show me how it feels to be loved, Poe." 

" _ **Yes!**_ " Poe howls to the rafters. He _loves_ the way that feels. Loves both the feeling of being tied down, and then of being violently thrown over and _used_ , however the other man wants. He may not have the Force, but he can feel the Darkness in his lover; the Darkness, and the Light, and the strange balance between them, and it's like nothing else is nor ever could be. Control, force, fear, anger, aggression, _insistence_ , but tempered by joy, hope, need, trust, care, _love_.

Perfect balance. The dark, terrifying things he craves, and the bright, wonderful adoration that proves none of it is anything but _right_.

And… the pleasure breaks through him all at once, shattering under the other man's order, a moment on the brink before he tumbles into complete release. Poe screams out again, a primal, soul-deep sound, once and then again, before he finds enough coherence to do as he's been told.

" _Kylo_ ," he cries. " _Master_. I… love you… love you… always… forever…"

It's too much, much too much, and Kylo wants to **burn whole worlds** just to offer them to Poe. Just to show him how much he means. (Uninhabited ones, of course.) He'd make stars end their sequences early, just to write his love across the sky. Burst them into an early death, sear the message into the cosmos. But instead… instead he cries out just as brokenly in Poe's ear, his voice ruined and his body losing all sense of rhythm as he spills inside of him, filling him with heat and love and he's all but chanting in his ear.

"Poe… Poe… my heart. Poe. I love you. I love you. You're everything. I **love** you." 

"I love you too," Poe murmurs. "I do. Always…"

He collapses completely beneath his lover, cheek pressed into the soft bedding (they don't have to move _at all_ , by the Force, that's a novelty) and trying to catch his breath. Trying to work out where his mind is, and isn't, and…

…and, by the Maker, Kylo actually did just _propose to him_ …

Kylo follows suit shortly after, flopping on top of him, staying buried deep inside of him. No need to move, not straight off. Not… for any time soon. He nuzzles affectionately at the side of his cheek, a low, bubbling sound in his chest and throat.

"I think you broke _me_ ," the Sith accuses, fondly. 

Poe laughs just a little, softly, warmly. A man completely out of his mind, and very happy about it.

"Just returning the favour," he replies. "I… _fuck_ , Kylo, the things you do to me…"

He can't quite finish that sentence out loud, but the tone of his voice says it all.

"I think it's safe to say your response is equal, and opposite. In all the right ways." Kylo smirks, and nips just once at his earlobe. "You… are a fiend, you know? It's important you never change."

Pause. "…you're not going to, right?" Because Kylo is never going to get tired of fucking him, he knows that for certain. "Because if you decide you've had enough…" 

"I could _never_ have enough of you," Poe insists, hazy but fervent. "No matter what you do to me, I _always_ want more."

He can't do much in his current position, so he lies as he is, enjoying the stillness, the closeness, the gradually-fading heat at his core. And the feeling of Kylo on top of him, warm and here and _right_.

"Good. Because… good." Kylo breathes a little sigh of relief at that. And then…

…shit.

"…uh. I realise I… uh…" Damn. "Said things. In the heat of the moment. That probably could have been… better… timed? With… flowers… and… things… and…" A swallow. "So if you want to pretend I didn't, so I can do it better, later, if you want me to, that is, I-- we can pretend I haven't until you want me to, or…?" 

"Kylo," Poe breathes, soft and heartfelt. "It was perfect. It was… _us_. Our relationship isn't exactly conventional. How _else_ would we do it, but like that?"

He smiles. No matter how hot and terrifying and wonderful Kylo is when he's in aggressive-Sith-Lord-mode, there's something heart-meltingly adorable about how he gets when he _isn't_.

"So you… still want to?" Kylo shuffles, and pushes his face into the bed, for a moment. "I mean. I know my family is seriously warped, and I'm not exactly the kind of man you take home to meet your father, but I… I can't imagine the galaxy without you by my side. And I… I mean it, Poe. You saved me, and I love you, and I… I want… everyone to know. I want the Force to know. I think the Force already does, to be honest, but…" 

"Of course I still want to. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't mean it. I _love you_ , Kylo. With all that that means."

Poe does his best to move an arm, trying to reach up and back, wanting to touch the other man. Even if only to stroke where he can, the contact full of meaning and resonance. Full – now and always – of need.

"Do you want me to move?" Kylo asks, solicitous again. "I can let you lie on your side, if I'm too heavy." He breathes in the back of his neck, and gives a playful, weak shunt of his hips against him. Too spent for anything but teasing, now. 

" _Oh_ ," Poe murmurs at that, loving it. "You don't have to go _anywhere_ unless you want to."

He's certainly happy either way. Like this, he gets pinned down. With the other thing, he most likely gets held. Both options are good.

"Yes, but if I crush you to death then it puts a dampener on the wedding night," Kylo snarks back, mildly. And another little rub against him, his elbows on the bed and fingers stroking the back of Poe's neck. 

"…is it normal that I'm worried where your droid is?" 

Poe laughs again, full of warmth and a touch of mischief. "Yes," he answers, suddenly deadpan. "You should check the room thoroughly before engaging in… activities. Sometimes he sneaks in."

This is not actually true. BB-8 is surprisingly good at disappearing off when the moment requires it. But… it's fun to imply otherwise.

"…I meant I wondered if someone had eaten him. But now I'm convinced he's under the bed. Doesn't he have… inbuilt modesty behaviours?" Kylo doesn't even notice that he's started to gender the astromech too, now. 

"D'Qar has no large, indigenous predators," Poe answers, easily. "He wanders around freely when we're here. Talks to the other droids, and some of the pilots. Sneaks up when you're not expecting it…"

"I am not averse to using my sabre on him if he interrupts when we're being intimate, even if we _are_ getting married," Kylo replies, very quickly. "Maybe I should put a bell inside of him, then I know when he's coming." 

"Kylo. Seriously, I'm joking. BB-8 knows when to make himself scarce, you know that. We spent five days on Eigengrau, and he did it every time."

And there were quite a lot of times.

"He might change his mind now we're not on that planet," Kylo grumbles. "I just… I know he _knows_ , but it's still… private." It's not like he'd turn off every camera near them, and then… okay. There's a thought. Kylo drags the idea of a holo-recording of them over Poe's mind, to gauge his response. 

Poe actually jumps a little in surprise. "…You'd like that, would you?" he murmurs. It's clear, from both his voice and the sudden flare of thoughts in his head, that _he_ certainly would.

"If it's just for us. Then we could… rewatch. Later. Maybe while I have you tied down so you can't even touch yourself." Kylo grins. "I was lonely, without you. I may have… been on the holonet." On Hux's login. 

The flare of apprehension – and hope – in Poe's mind at these words will be impossible to miss.

"You… have?" he says. "What… else… did you find?"

"Some of it I'm going to save for when we have time and… supplies," Kylo replies, sounding a little smug. "But some of it I can apply to everyday things." Oh yes. "…is your previous list of limits still the only ones I need to respect?" 

"I… think so. I mean, I don't know for sure because there's a lot I've never…"

Poe trails off, ever so slightly flustered. And his heart is racing again.

"Well, if we find something you don't enjoy, we stop. But as you seem to be the galaxy's biggest sexual deviant, then I suspect you'll enjoy most things." Kylo sounds… proud, almost. "And if you want to do your own research, and subtly leave hints to things…" 

It's not like he had anything else to do to hone his rage (for being away from his boyfriend) than watch tutorials on some very, very interesting sexual practices. And then get even more angry that he couldn't act out on them. 

"I… will certainly do that, yes," Poe manages. Fuck, yes. As soon as he can find a holonet terminal that he can use in private, and whose memory banks he can delete afterwards. The last thing Poe needs is the rest of the squadron getting hold of his… research materials.

Kylo Ren… snickers. And then bends his knees and rolls them forcibly sideways, so he can spoon up behind him and lie a possessive arm over his hip and belly. "Some of it involves the use of hot and cold things. Also insertable electronics. And I'm sure if I can tone down my Force-lightning enough…" 

" _Maker_ ," Poe breathes, closing his eyes. A flash of memory, of the test on Eigengrau, of the agony when all that Force-lightning hit him, and then the thought of it more controlled, more focused, arcing at his lover's will…

…fuck. Help. Or _don't_.

"…So… yes?" Kylo's teasing, now. He knows full well that Poe is enjoying this, and getting off on it, even if he can't get hard again so fast without significant assistance. Still, he can rake his fingers over rough, jangling nerves and offer sweet, dark things in his lover's ear. "Also, crude as it sounds, there's apparently plenty of things you can do with ropes. And some of those you can wear under your clothes, as you go about your daily business. And also some…" a rock of his hips… "…internal things, too." 

Poe presses further back against him, arching in pleasure. "…If you carry on like this, I'll have no choice but to beg you to fuck me out of my mind again," he says, voice rough with need.

"Maybe, but who's to say I will? Maybe I'll let you get hard again, and hold your hands away from your dick. Keep mine still inside you, but stop you from grinding yourself on it. Maybe I'll let you go insane with need until you pass out from it and then I'll wake you up to make you suffer some more…" 

" _Please_ ," Poe whispers, shuddering with need. "Mercy. Don't… I…"

He doesn't exactly have a good reason. 'I think I'll go insane if you do' is more than likely to _provoke_ , rather than prevent.

Oh, this is too, too much fun, Kylo thinks. "What if I keep you on the cusp of wanting? Pour out my dark thoughts into your ear, but stop you before you ever need too much to cope? What if I keep you simmering, and never boiling over? Would you like that, love? Would you like me to torment you for hours with just my voice? My fingers on your hip?"

" _Don't_ ," Poe begs, again, curling in on himself a little more. He has the unerring ability to make the word 'don't' sound like 'oh fuck please' and 'Maker, yes' and 'anything, Master' all at once.

"So you don't want to hear how I can keep a miniature replica of my cock slipped into your cheeks when you're out on flights? How I could control it over the 'net? Or how I could slip into your body's reactions: tip them hot and cold without the use of flame or ice? Or how I could gag your tongue in your mouth and put on old holos of space battles and pretend I'm steering one of the craft when I ride you left and right?" Kylo enjoys this _way_ too much. "Or wear my mask, and force you to go down to your knees? Push you under my robes, hide you there, and speak over a holocall to someone while you suck me off and they don't even know?" 

" _YouknowI'ddoanythingforyou_ ," is Poe's response, a sentence without spaces, laden with desperation and fear and want and need. His mind is whiting out a little under all the possibilities, all the images, and he can't think in straight lines anymore. Or at all.

"I'm going to fill every dark little thought in you, Poe. I'm going to find where those shadows cling to your insides, and I'm going to lick them all into life. I'm going to use you. Abuse you. Love you. Hurt you." Oh yes, all that and more. Kylo grabs at Poe's too-spent cock and sends a shudder through his body all the same. "And when I'm done, and you're exhausted, and you want to sleep for a million years… I'll wrap my arms around you and tell you how good you've been for me." 

The words are pushing Poe's mind deeper and deeper. He isn't aware of it, the way he would be if it was physical force or obvious, directed control, but it's just as intense, just as strong, just as effective. He shakes all over at that hand on his cock, not quite able to process precisely what he's feeling, only that it's huge and overwhelming and right.

"Anything," he murmurs. "Anything you want."

"When you're done, I'll kiss the sweat from your skin. I'll stroke the pain in your arms, your thighs, but I won't take it from you. You'll wear the aches, the bruises, like badges of honour. And you'll know that you and you alone are beloved of Darth Kylo, Lord of the Sith. You will know that you and you alone are the Pilot of our ship, the hand that guides us where I ask you to take us. You, and always you, and only you, dear Poe." 

It's too much, now. Much too much. Kylo is only _talking_ to him – and if he's augmenting it with the Force, he's being extremely subtle about it – and still Poe can't think. Can't focus. Can hardly breathe. He ought to feel spent and sated but right now he doesn't quite know how he isn't outright _pleading_ with the other man to _do things to him_.

He makes a soft little whimper. Anything else would give too much away.

Kylo puts his hand over Poe's hip, then, and sends a pulse of heat through him. Just subtle, and then his hand lifts and – with great, _great_ focus – that white lightning sparks between his fingertips and dances between their bodies. He moves his fingers an inch above his lover's skin, coursing over his belly, his thighs. He knows Poe won't last for long like this, but Kylo isn't sure how long he can maintain such a steady stream of energy. Long enough, he hopes. 

" _Fall for me_ ," he insists, though it's hard to tell if it's aloud or not. 

And Poe _screams_. But he screams like he does when he's coming, not just when he's in straight-up pain, his whole body tensing and shaking but not pulling away, even though he is – physically, at least – unrestrained right now.

" _Please!_ " he cries out, though whether it's for mercy or for more would be very hard to say. " _Pleasepleaseplease_..!"

"Not yet," Kylo whispers. The sound is music to his ears. The anguish, the torment, the… love. He trails his hand up over Poe's chest, then down and to just above his groin. "Not until you can't keep your mind awake, Poe. You wanted driving insane. You wanted driving out of your body. You wanted this, so I'm going to give it to you." He flickers the pain and torment lower, between his legs, over his groin. "Fall. **Fall**." 

" _ **Please!**_ " Poe screams again, louder and more desperate, a hint of very real terror in his voice. "Please… Kylo… Master… mercy… mercy, I'm begging you, I can't… I can't…"

Instinct makes him try to struggle a little, but he's in so much pain that he can't get very far.

"You can. You can, and you will. You want to know I'm stronger, you want to know you can do this. So do it, Poe. Fight me. Fight me until your mind and body can't fight me anymore. Fight me, and know when you wake up that I'll be here to kiss it all better." He's adamant he won't give up. 

Poe does not, on a sensible level, want to fight. On a mad-with-pain level, however, the instruction – the _invitation_ – is more than enough to make him react, make him try to struggle out of range, but it hurts so much he can hardly move, and he just ends up exhausting himself all the more in the process.

"Stop," he pleads. "Stop… stop… I'll do anything… please, _please, **stop**_."

The lightning fades, but in its place is a sudden, crashing blackness. An inexorable, undeniable urge to _go_. Go, out of consciousness. Into the black, into the other place that isn't quite sleep. Kylo knows Poe needs this, at least once. Needs to know how utterly out of his depth he is, and how utterly safe he is. So he rips the last vestiges of the day from him, and throws him as far under as he can.

And he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: So, our lovely artist TheJuggernaut drew us more fanart, for this particular chapter. BEHOLD!
> 
>   
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> 
> Credit and larger versions: [@itspronounceddee-ann-uh](http://itspronounceddee-ann-uh.tumblr.com/post/140313909973/just-in-case-any-of-your-were-on-the-fence-about)
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	26. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, readers! Here is our gift to you: more smut! <3 (Oh shush, we couldn't help it. And neither could they!)
> 
> Enjoy said smut whilst it lasts, however. If you look on your scope, you'll see a fleet of plot incoming...
> 
> EDIT: ...and you'll also see some lovely NSFW fanart at the end of this chapter!

_Wake up._

_**Wake up**._

Poe jumps into sudden consciousness, mind racing, convinced – just for a few seconds – that he's back on Eigengrau, that suddenly he'll hear another of those arches opening, feel the heat of the sun and the weight in the air, and…

…no. No. This isn't Eigengrau. This… is a large, comfortable bed, in a low-lit room.

It _was_ all real.

He's lying in bed, in their room on D'Qar, curled up in Kylo's arms. His whole body thrums with a low, lingering ache; a memory of exertion, and of pain, but it all just feels _good_. So very, very good.

For the moment, Poe doesn't move, staying where he is, enjoying the closeness. Enjoying the fact that he doesn't have to rush quickly to full consciousness. Wondering if the other man is already awake.

"I wondered when you'd wake up," comes the sleep-scratchy voice from behind him, muffled into neck and hair. Kylo has his arm slung over Poe's waist, his legs bent up to spoon into him, and his chest pressed all against Poe's back. A little wiggle – testing fingers that have gone half to sleep – and a pleased… yawn? (Kylo doesn't normally yawn. Ever.)

"How are you feeling, Poe?" 

"… _Amazing_ ," Poe breathes. He can say a lot with a single word. "And… sore. I think you broke me a little."

Which would be Dameron-speak for 'please do that again soon'.

He presses back against the other man, curling further into the embrace, closing his eyes once more to simply let himself enjoy it.

"So you… didn't mind… being pushed that far?" Kylo asks, softly. He thinks it was well-received, but as Poe was literally blacked out without his consent, it's pretty hard to know for certain. "You… you were… so beautiful. You _are_ so beautiful. It was… I…" 

Have apparently lost the power of speech. He squeezes him tighter, instead. 

Poe shudders just a little at the memories. "Of course not," he whispers. "Not by you. I…"

… _loved_ it. Loved it in a way that's beyond words. _Need_ it, in a way that transcends explanation. Am somewhat scared by it, and yet still crave more.

"…said 'anything you want', and I meant it."

"I still have to make sure," Kylo says. "I think… I think I will always have to make sure. And you, too. Because…" A little shudder. "Because we want _this_ and not **that**." And if it means a little touching base before and after, then Kylo thinks it's a reasonable price to pay to ensure they both enjoy this to its fullest. 

"You're beyond amazing, Poe. I don't even have words for how… perfect you are. I'm just glad I found you, that the Force gave you to me, before… it was too late." 

"If I'm perfect, you make me that way," the pilot answers. "You certainly make me _this_ way. You wake something up inside me that I never dreamed I could have… and now I do. With _you_. The only one who could ever take me this far."

"If anyone else tried, I'd likely eviscerate them," Kylo replies rather quickly. "But they won't, so that's fine." He would. He'd do a lot worse than eviscerate someone. Well, maybe not if Poe wanted it, but… he'd definitely have very strong urges to do very cruel things. 

"…I did mention that I don't… share well…" he adds, with a self-deprecating little smile that he pushes into Poe's neck. "But I'll try not to act ridiculous about it. I just… you're mine. And I love you. And… I'm going to have to get used to you having friends, and family, and… duties." And he hates that. Oh, he hates that. "…just… remember I'm more important." 

Poe laughs softly, warmly, tugging Kylo's arm tighter around himself. "I'm not asking you to share like _that_ ," he says. "I feel the same way. I want to be _all_ that you're focused on, when it comes to this kind of intimacy. But… Kylo, the other people in my life… they can be in yours, too. I know it will take time for them to get to know you, but… they can."

And things are certainly going a lot better than he expected before he first came back here. A _lot_ better.

"I doubt anyone will ever feel at ease with a Sith in the room, though," Kylo says, with a sad little sigh. "But I suppose as long as they tolerate my presence, and don't actively want me gone or dead, then that will be enough."

Kylo doesn't think he deserves much more than that, after all. "And you have no worries about my… focus. I promise you. I have never wanted anyone else, and I never will again. I know. I know as surely as I know that Dark and Light are in me. I **know** I belong to you, and you won't ever have to fight for my focus. You _pull_ it to you, simply by breathing." 

In response to this, Poe takes a deep, slow breath, smiling to himself.

"That bodes well for me," he murmurs. "The things you do… for me… _to_ me… I don't know how I lived so long without them, but I know I couldn't do it any longer. I certainly wouldn't _want_ to."

"It's good that both of us want to drive you insane, then," Kylo says, and pushes Poe over onto his belly, lying flat out on top of him. A languid, lazy rock of his hips against his ass. "…do you think we have time before we need to find that ship and go to Jakku, or…?" 

"Kylo," Poe purrs, happily. "It's _our_ mission. Of course we have time…"

***

It's a good while later when the two of them finally head out, walking down from their little block and onto the main concourse of the base. There's plenty of other people around: pilots working on their ships, soldiers running through combat drills, not to mention droids and logisticians and many more besides.

BB-8 whirls up at once, bumping at Poe's heels – and Kylo's too – bleeping in excitement about their upcoming mission, and telling them to follow it. The little droid leads the way down to a landing pad at the far end of the row, where there's a slightly dented but obviously spaceworthy Lambda-class shuttle sitting. It wasn't there the previous night, which means that someone has pulled strings to get it for them.

And it isn't hard to guess who. Leia Organa is waiting outside, currently deep in conversation with Snap Wexley. They fall silent as BB-8 wheels up with Poe and Kylo close behind, Leia instantly looking to her son and smiling.

She isn't the first to speak, however.

"There you are," Snap says. "Thought _you_ were gonna sleep all morning."

Poe does not dignify this with a response.

Kylo looks about ready to give some sharp reply when his eyes flit over to his mother, and then his jaw snaps audibly shut. And he smiles, instead. "The Resistance is to be commended for its hospitality," he says. 

Leia's eyes twinkle with amusement. "We're just glad to have you here," she answers. "I'm sorry you have to leave again so soon, but… I understand why. Although I hope, when you return, it will be for longer."

"…when we have the girl, and then Sk-- Uncle Luke-- things… will… be better," Kylo says, as evenly as he can. "This is not me running away, I promise." 

"I know," Leia tells him. "And I know the importance of what you're going to do."

"We both do," Snap chips in, giving Kylo a nod – the look in his eyes nothing but genuine – and then leaning to clap Poe on the shoulder. "I'd offer to come with you but _somebody_ is apparently making a habit of running off to Jakku without me."

"Who knows, Snap, maybe third time's the charm?" Poe replies, grinning. "Not that I'm _hoping_ for a third time, but the galaxy does seem to enjoy sending me back to that place over and over…"

Kylo suppresses a shudder at the thought of all that damn sand. "Twice is enough. It's not exactly the nicest place in the galaxy." Pause. "Other than for giving me people I… need." 

Leia smiles again, her eyes flicking between her son and his boyfriend, between her wayward heir and her daring pilot, and then she gestures to the ship behind her. "This is the _Aquilae_. It's fully stocked for your trip, and Captain Wexley has run through most of the pre-flight checks already."

Snap gives a little bow of the head, and a grin. "You're welcome, Dameron."

"Also," Leia goes on, "Kylo…" It's obvious the name still feels strange to her, though at the same time she is making a clear effort to use it. "I took the liberty of finding you some spare clothes. Something that might allow you to move about on Jakku a little more… inconspicuously."

Kylo stiffens at that, the thought of anything _but_ his traditional attire… harrowing. Even if it would make sense. No one knows his face, and if he doesn't draw his sabre, they'll have no reason to suspect who he is. Unless they recognise Poe, of course. 

There's a strange little… blankness to his face when he nods, trying to process it. 

Leia reaches out, perhaps cautiously, and puts a hand on her son's arm. "It might help," she says. "Your usual look is… distinctive. But the choice is yours, of course."

A half-there flinch, again, but he… relaxes just a little under the contact. It's getting easier for Kylo, but it's clear he still has a lot of issues with physical contact, with touch. "It could help us to remain undetected, yes."

But then I'll have to look… like someone normal. Someone who isn't a mass-murderer. Someone who isn't a Sith, too. 

Obviously not wanting to push him anymore, Leia turns her attention to Poe. "Your flightplan is cleared. Try to bring _this_ ship back in one piece."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," Poe answers.

" _Leia_ ," she corrects.

"…General."

Leia sighs, and pats him on the arm, too. "You'll get there in the end."

"Before we leave, I – ah – we…" Oh no. Maybe he shouldn't tell them. Kylo glances over to Poe to see if he wants it public knowledge or not. Well… small public. 

Poe reaches to grip Kylo's hand, and smiles. More than happy for people to know, and more than happy to let him be the one to do it.

"We… ah… Poe and I…" Kylo holds Poe's hand in a death-grip. "You may think we are being too forward, but we're not. We're… I…" Oh Force-bedamned… cheeks red and head tilted and _why is this so difficult to admit_. "I proposed. He accepted." 

There's a moment's stunned silence, and then Leia breaks into the most radiant of smiles. "You did?" she says, looking between the two of them.

"…He did," Poe manages, blushing rather a lot himself. "And I did. And…"

Which would be when Leia grabs hold of him and hugs him, before turning to do the same to her son. As soon as Leia has let go of Poe, the pilot meets eyes with his best friend, who grins warmly.

"Poe Dameron, you magnificent son of a bitch," Snap says. "Only you could run off on a secret mission and come back with a fiancé."

And he closes in to wrap Poe in a hug of his own, clapping him on both shoulders before he lets go. "Make sure you come back with him, too. I have a bottle of Corellian brandy with all our names on it."

Kylo is taken aback by the hug, even watching Poe get wrapped up first. He expected a little more… unease from them? After all, he knows most people don't get engaged this rapidly, but most also don't know they need to, the way he does. Don't know the other's mind inside and out, dark secrets and all. Don't know the galaxy wants them together. 

"So I am… definitely expecting to return," the Sith mutters. "Eventually. When we can." 

"And I look forward to it," Leia tells him, not quite letting go just yet, lingering over the contact, obviously enjoying the chance to experience it again, after so long apart. "I won't hold you back any longer. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return."

Her eyes flick over to Poe. "With my shuttlecraft," she adds. "Intact." Deliberately suppressing another smile.

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, General."

"You mean 'Leia'."

"…Yes."

He means 'General'.

"If we bring back a Star Destroyer instead, would that be an adequate trade-off?" Kylo asks, gently prising himself out of his mother's grip. "I am sure he will only escalate from here on in." 

"They require so much maintenance," Leia replies, now obviously trying to look serious and sensible, but with obvious ease and happiness beneath.

Poe hasn't seen her this way in a long time. It's… so very good.

"Although," Leia goes on, "I certainly wouldn't turn one down if you came back with it."

"Nor would Poe," Snap remarks. "He'd probably try to land it, though. Because apparently G-forces are fun."

"I don't think you'd feel them the same way in a Star Destroyer."

"Say the man who clearly wants to find out."

"As long as I don't have to press any buttons," Kylo rumbles. "I'll just control all the troops with my sheer magnetism instead. Maybe get them all to switch sides. That would be fun…" In a very, very unreal world. One where he might actually try to save as many Stormtroopers as he could. When he was sure Snoke was out of the way. 

Snap laughs out loud. "I like this guy," he says, clapping Poe on the shoulder again.

It's quite a relief for Poe to realise that his best friend does actually seem to be warming to Kylo. Agreeing not to fight with him was one thing, but this… this feels like something that might work in the long run. Because, even with everything starting out surprisingly well, there's always been the fear that it might not last.

Kylo blinks in confusion, not sure what to make of that. Maybe Pilots like Sith. Or maybe it's just that Poe tends to hang around with people who have different views of the world at large. At least he's not being shot or threatened with bloody murder, so… 

"You should get going," Leia says. "Be careful out there, both of you."

Kylo nods, and briefly takes his mother's hand. A soft squeeze, then he lets go and pulls back. It's about the limit of his comfort zone. "We will. The Force wants us to do this, though. So we'll be fine. I'm sure of it… the galaxy needs it." So it will happen. 

"Then good luck," Leia tells him. "And may the Force be with you."

This is it. The two men head up into the _Aquilae_ , Poe leading the way through to the cockpit, with BB-8 trundling in behind them. It's a long time since he's flown a Lambda-class, but – from the way he settles at the pilot's station with ease – you'd think he did it all the time.

"If it's brown, I'm not wearing it," Kylo complains the minute they're out of earshot. "I'm not dressing like a damn Jedi. I don't care. I'll deflect a million blaster bolts before I look like my uncle." 

"Kylo, I very much doubt it's going to be brown," Poe replies, finishing the final pre-flight checks and starting to warm up the hyperdrive. Not that there's anything _wrong_ with brown, of course. He's back in civilian clothing himself, and it's a mixture of brown and black. If nothing else, it's less conspicuous than pilot-orange.

"You've seen what my mother wears. She doesn't exactly go for high fashion. It will either be Jedi robes or I'll look like some damn military brat or…" Okay, now he's getting angry again, isn't he? Kylo slams his mouth shut. 

A breath. "It's… just. Hard to change. Old habits." 

Poe looks sideways at him. "Kylo. It's going to be fine. And… the General does have a point. You're a well-known figure. Not exactly suited for going undercover."

Behind them, the shuttle's hatch clangs shut, as Poe engages the launch thrusters. "Here we go…"

Kylo hasn't been in this model of craft for many, many years. In fact, he can't remember the last time he was. The First Order has its own fleet, and he was usually on the _Falcon_ or a bigger ship before… it all went to hell. Still. He watches Poe's hands fly over the controls, and he envies him the ease with which he manipulates them.

"Do you… prefer one kind of ship to another?" 

"Starfighters, first and foremost," Poe answers, as the shuttle rises above the tree-line and then begins to swoop up through the atmosphere. "X-Wings are the best all-rounders, and nothing handles quite like an A-Wing. But… honestly, so long as it's got engines and an on-switch, I'm happy."

Beyond the front windows, the green surface of D'Qar dips slowly away, and the sky blends gradually from blue-white, to indigo, to black, as they hurtle into space. In little more than seconds, they're breaking atmosphere, the glittering ring surrounding the planet arcing up above them.

"…did you ever… was there ever a time you couldn't fly? Or did you know you could do it, the minute you got in a cockpit?" Kylo stares out at the blackness of beyond, remembering times long ago. Times when he thought he might be able to, before it became evident he couldn't. 

There's a distant little smile on Poe's face, now. A hint of sadness, mixed with remembered joy. "My mother taught me to fly. I used to sit on her knee and we'd go up together. I was six years old when she first let me take the stick. It… was like being set free. Like… everything just made sense."

"I wanted to," Kylo admits. "Really badly. I don't know if the weight of it crushed me, or if I just… can't connect. It… might be that I rely on the Force with organic things, and then… with a ship it's like being blind. I don't know how my uncle did it. I just… it felt like I was at a remove. And then I got frustrated because I'm not very patient, and I felt like I was letting everyone down…" 

"I… could teach you, when this is all over," Poe offers, quietly. "If you want me to."

"I don't think you could. Not… to be good enough. Maybe enough to not-die, but I'm… I'm just never going to fly things the way you can." It's hard, but it's true. "And you don't want to see what I'm like when I'm being taught something. If you thought Eigengrau was hard, remember that was things I'm _good_ at." But the hand on his knee, and the soft smile say he's grateful, all the same. 

"Well… if you change your mind, all you have to do is say the word. And if not, I'll gladly fly you anywhere in the galaxy."

Poe puts a hand on Kylo's for a moment, and then reaches for the controls again. "Here we go."

And, with a sudden kick of motion, they burst forwards into hyperspace.

***

The trip to Jakku is mostly uneventful. Mostly.

Or, it is until they start to get close to their destination, and Kylo – still very begrudgingly – opts to go and change into the less-conspicuous clothes his mother has provided for him. When he comes back into the cockpit, where Poe is all but lounging at the controls, he's dressed rather differently: a long and reasonably voluminous grey tunic, cinched in with a thick belt, and fairly close-fitting, darker-grey pants, with black boots.

Poe turns, and breaks into a very approving smile. "Your mother has excellent taste."

Kylo huffs, fixing the sabre hilt to his belt, concealing it in the deep pocket at his hip. It's entirely too… grey. Which, he realises, considering he's some kind of Grey Side Sith, is likely deliberate. But it's still strange. He misses the black, and the layers, and the security, and the constriction, and the… everything. He cuts an imposing figure, in his own clothing.

Now… he looks like a tall, severe, awkward man out on a limb. "I prefer black." Even if it does work with his figure. 

The other man's smile doesn't fade. "I know you do. And, don't get me wrong, I _like_ you in black. But… you suit grey."

"I look like an insurance broker," Kylo complains some more, arms folding across his chest. "What if someone asks me about something normal, like… sports? Or… fixed rate loans? Can I Force-choke them?" 

"Kylo. We're going to _Jakku_. Not Coruscant. Any and all questions will be about salvaged resources, weapons trading, and sand."

It isn't exactly the bright centre of the universe, after all.

"I hate sand." Kylo hates most things. "Why does my family always end up stuck on desert wastelands? Do you think the Force finds it amusing?" 

"I wouldn't be surprised," Poe concedes. "And… I'm not exactly in a hurry to go back there myself."

His memories of the place aren't good, after all, even if they did ultimately lead to _much_ better things.

"It's not even as if it's a good thing to fuck on. I bet it gets everywhere. And I bet you're washing it out for days, and I didn't bring enough suncream for _that_ , too. I mean the sun." Kylo turns, trying to look over his shoulder to check the back of his outfit, too. 

Poe checks the autopilot and then rises to his feet, nigh-on stalking over to Kylo, grabbing hold of him, and kissing him at once. " _Relax_ ," he insists, as he pulls back. "It is going to be fine."

"Right." Hands trailing down Poe's arms, and a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm just… it was hard enough letting you see my face. Now the whole galaxy will see it, and I'm… not sure I'm ready for them to see me, yet." 

"I know," Poe tells him, softly. "But… it's OK. You don't have to be afraid. And… you have me by your side. You're not alone anymore."

He curls in, resting his head on Kylo's chest, sliding his arms around the other man's back to hold on. Only chasing the contact now – not trying to provoke anything else – and wanting so desperately to help.

Warm arms embrace him, finding the fabric clumsy around his frame, but… yes. It moves when he does. Kylo drops his head onto Poe's, a long, slow sigh. "I probably need a fake name, don't I? For this. Not Ben." Never Ben. "In case you need to address me in public." Wait. "I mean, when you address me in public." 

"It might help. Do you have one in mind?"

Sometimes, not being known from one side of the galaxy to the next can be helpful. It does make flying under the radar rather easier.

Kylo doesn't exactly have a huge list to pick from, all things considered. His family are household names, good and bad. There isn't really a male relative he can think of who isn't known on some level. It's… complicated.

"You… could call me for my other grandfather. My adoptive one. Bail." 

"Bail," Poe repeats. "Yes. That works."

Bail Organa. Leia Organa's adoptive father. Viceroy of Alderaan. Victim of the first Death Star. But… that was such a long time ago now.

Over at the pilot's station, the proximity alarm starts to sound. "We're coming up on Jakku," Poe says, reluctantly letting go of Kylo and going back to take his seat.

Kylo nods, and follows him to the co-pilot's seat. He isn't needed, but he still wants to show… willing? "I don't know where we'll find her, so we need to look… well. At any signs of civilisation. There's nothing left of… Lor San Tekka's cult, but we could go to Niima." 

"Niima was my plan, too," Poe answers, as he disengages the hyperdrive. The _Aquilae_ drops back to sublight with a judder, and… there it is. Again. The golden, dust-swept world that everything keeps coming back to.

Jakku.

Poe's breath catches a little when he sees the planet beneath them. The last time he looked at it like this… he was trying to crash-land a stolen TIE-fighter on it.

"I may be able to sense her, if I get close enough," Kylo says. "When… when we were here, last… I felt it. A stirring, an… awakening. It was difficult to pinpoint, to hone in on. But now I am free of Snoke's control, I should be able to sense her, better…" That's his plan, anyway. 

Kylo grabs Poe by the back of the neck, pulling him closer to kiss his temple gently. "I was also a little distracted by other, more important things." 

"So I recall," Poe says, leaning into the contact. "Something about a daring Resistance pilot you couldn't take your eyes off…"

"You know… I…" Kylo chuckles, just slightly. "Even when they pushed you to your knees, I had to get close enough to watch your eyes. I should have realised something, then, when I crouched down to your level. Amusing, in hindsight." 

"I should have known it was significant," Poe concurs. "But I was… distracted by other thoughts, and more than a slight concern for my life."

He is not ashamed to admit this. It is not – at all – that he believed all hope was lost, but some semblance of the thought did cross his mind nonetheless. Mostly, it was what Snap had said to him, the night before he left D'Qar.

_"…if the First Order catches you, you'll be disavowed by the Republic. By the_ Resistance _. No one will come after you."_

He'd known he was alone out here. But… he isn't, now.

And that's a good thought.

Another kiss, this one lingering for longer. "You were too interesting to kill, Poe. With or without any map. When I heard you'd escaped…" A little growl. "I made it my personal mission to _retrieve_ you." 

And here they are, back on Jakku, or almost. Sand, sand, and more sand. 

"One day, we should keep the mask on," Kylo muses, just because he can. 

Poe leans in closer. He is now flying the ship with only one hand (thankfully, he does not have to pay much attention to it at this point, though there's an argument for saying this is merely a fact and not an excuse) and the look in his eyes is so terribly _drawn_.

"Is that what you'd like?" he murmurs back. "To imagine you'd had all the time in the world to break me? How would you have done it? Sheer force, or… slow, insidious seduction..?"

A finger and a thumb curl under his chin, holding him, pulling him inexorably closer. So close their breath ghosts across the other, a smile that spreads like continents drift: slow, and impossible to resist. "If I wanted to? I'd do it slowly, but firmly. Do it _right_. Find the fault lines…" and a finger touches Poe's temple, drawing a zig-zag down the side of his face.

"…find the places where you creak and crack and groan… find that coiled need to please, to impress… reward you for your obedience. Hurt you, but make you love it. Bear down on you like the ocean: slow laps at first, then waves that crest and break and drown the coastline in their love. Make you beg for the break, make you crave the release it would bring you. Make you _want_ me to do it to you." 

…Fuck.

Fuck.

Poe clicks the autopilot on to full, hoping that no one down at Niima Outpost is scanning for approaching ships and decides to try hailing them. And…

…he should not do this. He really, really should not, when they're on a mission of galactic importance and they're _here_ , and…

…here.

Jakku.

Poe slips right out of his chair and sinks to his knees at Kylo's feet.

Kylo beams, and it's a cruel, loving smile. He slips a hand behind his pilot's head, and then puts one foot up and on the edge of the console, giving him more room to… well. "Want to finish what you started, do you?" He brushes against his mind, a soft, stinging touch. "Want to tell me all about this map that leads to the saviour of the galaxy? Want to offer it all to me, because you know I'm so strong, so powerful, that your whole body sings to fall into pace alongside me?" 

Nails that dig into his nape, and Kylo tilts his head down just slightly. "You know your place, Dameron. You know you were made to _serve_. So do it." 

It would be all too easy to obey. All too _wonderful_ , and Poe knows he would enjoy every damned second. But… he has to push back, first. Even if only a little. Just to see…

"…What will you do if I refuse? If I _resist_?"

"You won't, not for long," Kylo tells him. "You won't, because you were made to fit my hand. You knew it on the sands, you knew it in the chair, you knew it on Eigengrau when all I was was a man with a lightsabre and a desire to _win_." 

He doesn't even use the Force. He doesn't need to, not right now. Instead he stares down at him, willing him to break, first. He's seen Poe's head from the ground up, he knows… he knows. "Love me. Love me, and I will raise you to the stars. Love me, and we will go down in _history_." 

Poe will always break first. It's why they work so well together. Part of why, at least. He stares back for as long as he can, but the weight of the other man's gaze is too strong, and – without a significant reason to keep resisting – he slowly gives way beneath it.

He's been kneeling low, sitting on his heels, so he rises up, leaning in closer, lifting his hands to stroke gradually, gradually up the insides of Kylo's thighs, fingertips dragging on the fabric of his unfamiliar clothing. "I do love you," he whispers. "More than anything. And… I am yours."

"Prove it to me," Kylo purrs, his fingers soft in Poe's dark curls. He's high as an X-Wing again, enjoying the feeling of the other man's will snapping to his own command. He rewards his good behaviour with a slide of his mind over Poe's, a trickle of heat that goes down his spine. 

"Suck me until I tell you to stop. And then you're going to ride me like I'm your ship, and you're flying evasive manoeuvres around the Kessel Run." 

"I've never done the Kessel Run," Poe muses, as his hands find the fastenings on the other man's pants, pulling them open to free his cock. "But I have imagined it a few times…"

And then, without further elaboration, he sinks his lips down over his lover's erection, taking him as deep as he can all at once. And again. And again. And… there's a soft beeping from the control console, though he ignores it. He knows every sound this ship could make.

He will not be distracted by anything other than a literal emergency.

"Maybe we should, some day." You could do it in less parsecs than my father and shut him up once and for all. Although now is not the time to think about Han Solo, not when Poe's on his knees between his thighs, pink lips around his hard dick and a tongue that could lick him straight to the Light and back. "I know you'd do an incredible job."

He guides his head, but without force. Wanting him to show his skill, before Kylo takes his pleasure more forcefully. "That's right… you love to suck my dick, don't you? Almost as much as you love to ride it? It's all for you, Poe. Only ever for you." 

"I love everything about you," Poe replies, pausing just long enough to answer before he sinks back down, and then up. "Your cock. Your body." Back down, back up. "Your eyes. Your voice." And again. "Your power. Your strength." Once more. "Your heart. Your soul."

And _then_ he really goes for it, sucking up and down the length of the other man's cock with everything he's got, not faltering, not stopping, hardly breathing. _Needing_ to make this as toe-curlingly good as he can.

Poe Dameron is a little shit, Kylo thinks. With his gorgeous eyes and his charming smile and his winning personality and his beautiful submission and his sense of right and wrong and his ability to swallow a dick like it's air. He's just evil. That's it. Evil incarnate, and sucking his cock. His hands tangle together behind his head, and he hisses in low pleasure, a broken moan on its heels. He's never been as vocal as Poe is, but when he does make his happiness known, it's **rough** and _guttural_. 

Kylo all but shoves him down, feeling his throat struggle to accommodate him, feeling the flare of excitement in his body when he does that. "You're so very, very special," he tells him, a fight to keep his voice even when he does. "You look gorgeous on your knees, where you belong. I cherish your submission, Poe. I cherish you. D-don't… stop… n-not yet…" Though soon. Kylo's fighting his own need to finish in his throat, and he doesn't want that to happen. Not tonight. He wants Poe on his lap, grinding out his own climax on his cock. 

" _Anything_ ," Poe whispers, pausing – again – just long enough to speak. "Anything, Kylo."

And he goes back to what he's doing, struggling to keep his lips wrapped tightly around the base of his lover's cock for as long as possible – longer than seems or feels sensible – before pulling back to tease over the tip, looking up with a wicked flicker in his eyes, deliberately slowing down for as long as he thinks he can get away with it for… and then going straight back to furious, full-length sucking all over again.

Kylo knows if they keep this up, he'll come in Poe's mouth. And lovely as he thinks the sight of Poe licking come from his lips would be… he grabs his hair and yanks his head clean off his cock, then uses his free hand to find the small bottle of lube he'd secreted in his pocket for… emergencies. He snaps it audibly open, and then his brown eyes meet Poe's. 

"Push your pants down. I'm going to finger your hole wide enough for you to ride my dick like a good little flyboy." 

Poe's eyes are hazy with pleasure – and just a touch of hypoxia – when Kylo pulls him back like that, staring up at him in obvious bliss, shot full of need. The order makes him gasp in approval, and he reaches to unfasten his own pants, yanking his clothing down and then somehow having the forethought to quickly open up his shirt, too.

Partly to give Kylo more skin. And also so that he doesn't end up in quite so much of a state when all of this comes (no pun intended) to its inevitable conclusion.

"Turn around. Hands on the console. Ass up and presented for me," Kylo orders him. "I want to watch my finger spread you wide, watch how hungry you are for my dick. I'm not going to let you ride it until you can't _not_ , Poe. I'm going to make you so hard for me you want to cry."

Standing isn't the difficult part. It isn't even turning so he's facing the other way, bending forwards a little, open and exposed. No. It's that, when Poe does, he gets a very good view of the planet out the window.

Jakku. A defeat that turned into a triumph, via a convoluted path of pain and ecstasy and self-discovery. A memory that kicks him deep at the core, like some part of him will always be kneeling, caught, beneath the dark desert sky. A rush of images, both real and imagined.

Jakku.

" _Please_ ," he gasps, with a very genuine tremor of need in his voice. "Please."

Kylo can sense the shift, and he works the thread of it gently, a gentle hand low on his back, a reassuring touch, first. "Don't worry, Pilot. I'll reward your diligence, your hard work." 

In goes the first finger, like it was meant to be there. The lube is almost warm from his body heat, and it goes in slicker than when they used just the medical aftersun. It's wetter, and it's a strange sensation. "Tell me what you're feeling," he insists, as he teases around his entrance before slipping the second digit into him, all the way to the knuckle. 

The intrusion makes Poe rock forwards just a little, and he tries to brace himself better so he can push back. So he can give Kylo anything – everything – he wants. And… what _is_ he feeling? 'I feel like I want you to fuck my brains out' would be entirely _true_ as an answer – because he wants that very much – but… it isn't the whole answer, and he's confident it isn't the one Kylo most wants to hear.

The other man is too good at this, even now.

"I feel… so much memory," Poe gasps out, trying to hold together some shreds of coherence, which is not easy with two long fingers jammed up inside him. "The memory of what happened here. Of… how it feels to look back on it, now. Of… _fuck, Kylo, please, please_ …"

"Do you wish we'd worked it out earlier?" Though they couldn't have, not really. Two different sides of a war, they'd never have co-operated for more than a few minutes, without being taken out of the battlefield. "Or do you like that it was hard work?"

He curls those fingers, trying to spread his hole wider, trying to make him crave more. Swirls, and tries to find that space inside to just graze a fingertip over. "Do you like how broken we were?" 

"I think… _oh… oh…_ I think we worked it out at precisely the right point." Part of Poe will always exist in that very moment, when they did. He can still feel it in his mind like he's right there: the rustle of the soft grass as he'd dropped to his knees. The weight in the air, heat and humidity, somehow outdone by the weight of the moment. The soul-deep sense of terror and _right_ , intermingled into one glorious realisation.

The _need_ that burned so strongly, it overruled any semblance of restraint.

"And… I wouldn't say we were broken. It's just that… that you were lost in the Dark, and I was lost in the Light."

And we met in the middle.

"I was broken," Kylo says, very softly. "You may not have been, but I was broken. Torn in two, and unable to fit back together. You pushed my pieces back together, Poe." A third finger, and the way his body squirms around the breach is so beautiful; so very, very beautiful. 

"You did this. You." And he curls all three fingers towards Poe's prostate, even as he thrusts into his head: a pulse of terrified bliss, of fierce longing, of how vulnerable he knows he is to Poe, now. How he's offered it all, and how he knows he's loved. And how he loves, in return. "Turn around. Climb on my lap. Put your hands around my shoulders, and take your time on my dick." 

Moving is not easy, especially when some part of Poe just wants Kylo to slam him down over the console and take him right here. Take him hard and rough and… he lets those images run through his own mind, hoping his lover will pick up on them, and save them for later.

And then he turns, looking like a man thoroughly debauched already, staggering in and climbing up onto Kylo's lap, knees spread either side of him. "All yours," the pilot whispers, wrapping his arms around Kylo's shoulders and lifting himself up and… he has to rock his hips a little until he finds the tip of his lover's cock, sinking down onto it as soon as he can.

" _OhKylofuckyes_ ," he gasps.

Kylo's hands go to Poe's waist, holding him and helping him move. Helping him as he wriggles like the wanton he is, and then hissing when he feels him moving to sit down on his dick. His ass is slicker than usual, and it's strange. Not unpleasant, but strange. He guesses it will feel different every time they use something new, so they should probably try lots of things until they work out what they like best.

Maybe Poe already knows…

Kylo smiles, and peers up at him, enjoying the sight as Poe fills himself up, as he impales himself on his shaft. He can't move to rut into him, relying on Poe's own movements for the time being. "Force, but you feel wonderful," he sighs, and tries to urge him to move faster. "Don't stop. I want to watch your face when you come, Poe. I want you to give it all to me." 

"It's all already yours," Poe breathes, staring down at him – something of a novelty – and starting to move his hips. "All of me is. Body. Mind. Heart. _Yours_."

Once he starts to move, there's no stopping him, and he quickly finds a very sustainable rhythm, riding the other man with all he's got, every jolt of the hips sending pleasure spiralling through his blood, urging him on. He keeps one arm around Kylo's shoulders – for the contact, as well as for support – and moves the other to rest his hand on the side of his lover's face, almost shyly at first. Hoping it's OK to do so.

This position was definitely a good idea. Kylo files that away under: places that are good to have sex with Poe. So far it includes: on the floor, up against a tree, in a pile of blankets, inside a temple, in a bed, in a shower, and now on a chair. Oh, also on a spaceship. He grips his hips, then his butt-cheeks, urging him that little bit faster.

It's a strange lack of control, being ridden. Not that Poe's really in charge, but he does have to just sit back and feel his dick being swallowed and clenched and rubbing against his insides. He pushes Poe's cheeks tighter, making it marginally harder, and turns his face to kiss the palm on his cheek, very lightly. 

"Do you think we can get you to come without a hand on your dick, Poe?" 

The pilot doesn't even stop moving. "I know you can," he answers, his eyes dark with need, cheeks a little flush with exertion. "But then… sometimes I think you could do it without ever touching me at all."

That's another thought he hopes the other man will save for later. He's full of those today.

He leans in, kissing Kylo softly, breathily, the pleasure gradually making his expression go hazier and hazier. Need spurs him on, makes him keep going, makes him not stop. Not until he's given Kylo everything he's got.

"With my voice, or with the Force?" Kylo asks, though both sound tempting enough. He glances down at the full, proud cock bouncing between them, swaying with every jolting little movement of his lover in his lap. Both. Oh yes. Talking him to climax, or teasing his body, finding the nerve-endings and manipulating them until he can't help but scream and come.

He puts his hand on Poe's, on his face, thumb gently stroking at the back of his knuckles in counterpoint to the rough humping going on. Just like them. He pushes a hand up under his open shirt at the back, then moves it back down to the small of his back, the curve of his spine, a low, steady pulse of heat that spreads right into his gut, into his balls. 

"Would you like that? Tied down, and listening to me. Unable even to rub against my leg. Just the cold air, and your hot prick. Would you beg me, or would you just come?" 

"…I'd beg you," Poe gasps out, sounding suddenly, fundamentally _wrecked_. "For as long as I had the mental and physical strength to do it… I'd keep begging for your permission."

_But you could still break me if you wanted to,_ his tone says. He wonders what it would be like… being _forced_ to come when he was trying not to.

Something else for that list.

"The galaxy broke the mould when it made you, Poe," Kylo answers, his tone utterly destroyed in return. The things he comes up with (no pun intended). The things he wants, the things that he offers… 

His hand lifts from his lover's, only to mirror the gesture on his own face, to pull him gently in so their foreheads touch. "Are you close? Do you need it? Are you going to beg me, or do I need to slam you onto that console and see if I can fuck you to coming before I accidentally crash us onto the planet?" 

"…Autopilot's locked in," Poe murmurs, entirely on instinct. "You'd have to make quite an effort to crash us…"

And then he grins, aware he's slipped back into pilot mode even though he's still riding his lover like a man possessed. "I need it," he whispers. "But I…" he bites his lip, closing his eyes for a moment, "…I will do whatever you ask…"

"You haven't seen me _really_ try to fly," Kylo replies, amused. He wraps arms around him – shoulders, waist – and stands. Gravity sends Poe further down onto his dick, and then he slams the man down onto the console. He grabs for his hands, lacing fingers together and banging them so hard into the controls that he's going to have bruised and scuffed knuckles.

And then? Then Kylo fucks him with the full fury of a Sith who really hates flying (himself). Teeth sink into Poe's throat, and he snarls a love-letter between the enamel, riding him so hard his feet struggle to find purchase. 

" _Fuck, yes, Kylo, please… pleaseplease **please**!_ " Poe howls, the sudden force _everything_ he needs right now, trying to angle his hips to give his lover the very best access, the very best angle, to pound him completely out of his mind.

And he _is_ going out of his mind. Fast.

"Please. Please let me come. I'm so close, so very close. Please. I'm begging you." He did say he would, after all.

Some small part of Kylo's mind realises he's about to make a very big mess of his new, grey clothes. And maybe that part also thinks these clothes deserve it. Maybe. They have detergents, and running water, and drying utilities. It's a sacrifice for the greater good.

The greater good being fucking Poe Dameron speechless. He's not quite there – not quite in that avocal place – but he's close. Damn close. Kylo takes him with all his considerable strength, fucks him even as the terminal under him protests with beeps and boops and he hopes to hell that BB-8 has the sense to not come onto the bridge right now. Not when he's making Poe scream. 

He lifts his face to Poe's ear, breath hot and noisy. "Count to three, then come," he insists. And he waits, waits for the third beat to bite down with all the force he can on the curve of neck and shoulder, a slam into his ass and an even fiercer one into his head. 

The order is like a beacon in the darkness, dragging Poe's mind back, making him focus just enough to obey. "One," he gasps out. "Two." Sharper. More desperate. Obviously trying not to rush. " _Three_."

And – without a single touch to his cock – he instantly comes so hard, so fast, he's not entirely sure how he isn't blacking out. The pleasure rips through him, so strong it nigh-on _hurts_ , and he arches so much it's murder on his back, thrashing somewhat under the force of it.

" _ **YES!**_ " he yells, the only coherent word in the otherwise incoherent screams that slip his lips, as completion all but breaks him in two.

Force, but when he comes, he's glorious. Even more so than usual. Kylo feels the splatter of come falling between them, spurting and messy and happy, and he grabs hold of that sensation inside of Poe, and keeps it _going_. Doesn't let the wave break, keeping it in that hovering position over and over and-- then he's coming, too. Coming with a howl of Poe's name, and a slam of fingers back into buttons and the ship really is complaining, now, but Kylo doesn't give a shit because Poe… Poe… he keeps that climax-high going for as long as he dares… then lifts him up and staggers backwards to fall into his chair again, the Pilot still impaled on his lap. 

When the climax doesn't stop like it usually would, Poe's mind shorts out, his whole awareness caught on that glorious, agonising plateau, the line between pleasure and pain blurring into nothing. Time itself seems to stop existing, and he's just left _feeling_ , so much and so hard that he can barely breathe.

And… then it finally, mercifully shatters, and he curls into Kylo as tightly as he can, shaking all over, burying his face in the other man's neck. He can't speak. He can't think. He… just _is_.

And Kylo, for his sins, holds his lover close. Gentle hands, soothing, stroking, and holding him tightly. A kiss to his ear, and a little whisper. "Welcome home, Pilot." 

Poe shivers in delight, and curls in even tighter. It must hurt, how hard he's holding on. But… he doesn't think he could let go if he tried. Not yet.

A calm, soothing silence descends; the never-true-silence of spaceflight, and right now Poe thinks he could just sit here and revel for as long as…

"…Unidentified shuttle, this is Niima Outpost…"

The words crackle from the ship's main comm. The comm that Poe knows full-well he _muted_ just before he dropped down on his knees, to make certain they weren't interrupted. The comm that… oh sweet Force… either he or Kylo has obviously accidentally _un_ -muted at some point during the final moments of their very involved fucking.

And, judging by the alarmed, hesitant tone of the person on the other end of the line, they didn't just un-mute it. They broadcast a response.

"Unidentified shuttle, do you copy?"

Poe somehow manages to lift his head, but his mind is still not doing words. He stares up at Kylo, eyes silently pleading with him to fix this.

The Dark Lord of the Sith goes bright pink when he realises he shouldn't have worried about BB-8 overhearing them, as apparently some minion on Jakku below just got a very close look at their relationship. He does a brief 'what, me?' conversation with Poe, then clears his throat and replies.

"…uh… we copy. Uh… Niima, sorry about that. We had a slight… temporary… autopilot malfunction. But it's fixed now. We're fine. We're all okay here now, thank you so much. Uh… How are you?"

"…We're… good," the person on the other end manages, as though they – too – don't quite know how to handle this. "Uhm… do you require landing clearance?"

Or will you go far away now, please and thank you?

"Yes?" Kylo says, looking to Poe. They do need it, really. They can't just fly around the planet a few times and pretend they were looking for a parking space and then come back. "Please?" 

"Uhm… copy that. You have clearance to land at Niima, on the east side. And… er… enjoy your stay…"

And the comm line is – somewhat hastily – closed from the far end.

Poe exhales, for the first time since the call started. "…Thatwentwell," he murmurs, without the spaces. Pause. Focus. Try to remember what coherence is. "…Gotta love Jakku." Better. "Everyone's so friendly…"

"I'm never, ever, **ever** coming back here again," Kylo complains. "I told you I don't get on well with ships." And if they'd crashed it, at least he'd be less mortified than he is right now. 

"No, no, it's nice here," Poe insists. Still more than a little off his head. "You like it really."

He doesn't seem to be in a rush to move, either. His current position is one he'd prefer to stay in a little longer.

"Poe, you might enjoy people hearing you, but I've… I'm not an exhibitionist. And even if they think it's just Bail Dameron they heard, I'll still know it was me." Oh, and yes, I'm stealing your surname when I'm undercover. He doesn't think to ask if it's okay or not. 

Poe's eyes go wide when he hears Kylo take his name like that. Wide, with shock and surprise, before he breaks into an extremely bright smile. "If it's any consolation, I was the one doing most of the screaming."

"…still not helping," Kylo says, and pushes his head into Poe's shoulder, an awkward smile on his face. "We should probably clean up and land before they send up… uh… congratulatory flowers." 

"I don't think they go in for flowers much on Jakku," Poe muses. "I suppose we might get congratulatory sand. Or congratulatory salvaged Star Destroyer parts."

Will he get to see the wreck of the _Inflictor_ close up this time? He hopes so. Last time he had to content himself with flying high over it, and that just isn't the same.

"You aren't going to be happy until we steal the _Finalizer_ , are you? I suppose it's only a blessing that the Starkiller wasn't easily hotwired, or you'd have tried to steal that, too." Kylo shakes his head. "If they'd had you back in the days of the Empire, the Republic would own two Death Stars, and there'd be no First Order." 

"I would not have tried to steal the Starkiller! It was a terrible weapon that should never have existed in the first place. But… I'd certainly abscond with the _Finalizer_ , if given half a chance. Do you know what the Resistance could do with a Star Destroyer?"

Poe grins, and curls in closer. "What more can I say? I like ships. Of all types."

"It's more 'what could Poe Dameron do with a Star Destroyer' that worries me. What _would_ you do?" 

"Have a permanent, mobile, hyperspace-worthy base of operations for all my pilots," Poe says, at once. The words of a man who has thought about this before. "Somewhere safe. Strong. Defensible. And… somewhere with a few dark and ominous rooms to keep just for you and me…"

"You want a giant torture-palace X-Wing dock?" Kylo asks, amused intensely. "Why didn't you just ask me before?" 

"…You couldn't tell?" Poe replies, eyes full of mischief. "Besides, you know I'd only be happy there for so long. I may be a pilot, but I was born planetside, and the ground is in my blood. I need real air. Trees. Hills. Plus flying's _way_ more fun in atmosphere, despite what several of my squadron may insist."

"So… a summer vacation torture-palace?" The Sith snickers. "You are wicked, Poe. Wicked. And we're never going to save the galaxy if we can't keep our hands off one another for more than ten minutes." 

Poe sighs, just softly. "I know," he concedes. "I reckon we'd've won by now, otherwise. But this way is more fun…"

_Much_ more fun. And far more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grins* Poor little Jakku radio-operator man. We'd feel sorry for him, except we sort of don't. At all...
> 
> As you might have guessed from where the plot - and the boys - are going, we've got some big stuff coming up, and some long-awaited familiar faces inbound. We also want to prepare you in advance: next weekend (starting on Saturday), we're going to be doing another three-part, chapter-a-day-arc. When we said there was plot incoming, we meant it.
> 
> And it makes the Eigengrau Nightmare Sequence look like a quaint little walk in the sunshine.
> 
> EDIT: To help things along, have some more fanart! Once again it's from this very chapter, drawn by ElvenNekkies, and... well, just see for yourself!
> 
> Credit and larger version: [@elvennekkies](http://elvennekkies.tumblr.com/post/143188900502/i-posted-on-the-wrong-blog-first-time-omg-i-die)


	27. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday, readers! We return, and...
> 
> INCOMING PLOT!
> 
> We're delighted to reach this point at last. We spent long enough planning it!

The desert air is hot and a little oppressive as the two men finally step from their recently-landed shuttle, looking out across Niima Outpost on the surface of Jakku. They've gotten themselves cleaned up and both of them are entirely presentable now, which is some small mercy, considering what they were doing not all that long ago.

They head down the ramp at the back of the shuttle, BB-8 trailing along behind them, pausing just before they step off onto the sand.

"Can you feel anything yet?" Poe asks.

"Yes. I… think. Although it's hard to feel anything but _you_." Pause. "That was not meant to sound like a line." Pause. "But you are very distracting." 

"Well, I _could_ take the shuttle skimming out over the Starship Graveyard and leave you to it for a while, if you'd prefer," Poe replies, in the voice of a man who is not going anywhere.

"And I _could_ throw you over my shoulder, gagged and bound, and pretend you're about to be sold into slavery, but really I want to keep biting your ass…" 

BB-8 makes a noise of fake dismay.

"…he started it," Kylo grumbles. 

Poe pats BB-8 comfortingly, even as he's leaning in closer to Kylo. "Tease," he murmurs.

They really do need to focus. Really really. Doubly-so because being back on this planet again is distracting.

He stares out at Niima, at the collection of shacks and tents and other makeshift buildings forming most of the settlement. There's plenty of people about, representing a whole swathe of different races, and Poe tries to take in as much detail as he can without _looking_ like he is. Not wanting to draw attention to them.

Kylo looks… distant. His eyes unfocus, and he reaches out with the Force. Slides through the web of lives, through the flares between emptiness, looking, looking… there. Something bright, bright and glowing. "That way." It's out in the beyond, away from the outpost itself. "She's… in… a settlement. Of some kind. A… home. I think. And I don't think she's alone." 

"Close by?" Poe asks. "Or way out?"

This had better not end with them trekking through the desert. At least most of his time here on his previous visit took place at night, when it wasn't quite so hot.

"A way out. More than a walk. Not… completely in the middle of nowhere, but… close. We're going to need to get transportation, I think." 

"Agreed," Poe says. "Probably best not to take the shuttle. I wouldn't want to risk landing it on unstable terrain. And… we don't know how this girl will react if a Lambda-class shuttle drops in on her doorstep."

So. Transportation. Shouldn't be too difficult to find something in this junkyard. Hopefully something that is not, actually, junk. Poe's eyes scan the various establishments and trading posts he can see, until…

…hmmm.

"I know you're not one for flying ships. How do you feel about speeder bikes?"

A roll of his eyes, and why does it always come back to vehicles, one way or another? "My feelings on them are that they are a nuisance, but at least I've never crashed – or nearly crashed – one. So… I suppose that's a 'yes'?" 

There's no denying the sudden excitement in Poe's eyes. "I'll take that as a win. That trader off beyond the left-hand power pylon looks to be selling two of them." He grins. "Time to go make a deal?"

"Am I allowed to 'help' get a good price?" Kylo asks, with a sudden gleam in his eyes. "A reasonable one, of course…" 

"I think you should do that, yes. We may have generous funding thanks to your mother, but the Resistance is not made of credits…"

Poe really should not be condoning this. He certainly shouldn't be encouraging it.

But that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"I'll ensure the Resistance isn't robbed blind, then," Kylo answers, with more mischief in his lips than he has any right for. "In fact…" he holds his hand out. "Have you got your chit? I think, as you flew us here, it's only right if I pull my weight, too…" 

A hand in his pocket, and Poe hands the chit over at once. "Quite right. So long as I get to watch."

"I like you watching."

Kylo wanders over, hands in his pockets, looking… strangely casual and laid back. It's all an act, and if you look closely you can see it's not quite genuine, not quite fully committed. But it will do enough for now.

"How much for those two pieces of junk?"

"Not for sale."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I need 'em."

"What about renting them?"

"You mean: paying me less, and then leaving with them anyway? No, thanks, offworlder."

Kylo doesn't even lift his hand. "I'll pay you in full for them, and when I return them, you'll refund the rest of the security. Then you won't be out of pocket if we do leave."

"…sounds… reasonable," the man says.

"You're also going to offer me them at the going rate. At what you'd pay for them, not what you'd sell for them."

"That… also… reasonable…"

"And you're going to make sure you don't cheat your next three business partners, too."

"…yes?"

"Good. Now… if you'd like to tell me your prices?"

Poe watches this exchange with the most level expression he can manage. It helps that he's naturally the friendly sort and a smile does not look out of place on him.

He really should not find this so hot. Or acceptable.

But apparently he does.

Kylo shakes his head. "You drive a hard bargain, and you really are breaking my bank--" all a lie, designed to make the other feel better, "…but I'll accept." 

The deal doesn't take long to settle, and then Kylo tosses one set of ignition keys to Poe. "You're not allowed to criticise my driving, by the way. I haven't ridden one of these in over fifteen years." 

"I would never criticise your driving," Poe replies. He's had plenty of experience with speeder bikes himself. His father first taught him how to ride, between the trees of Yavin 4, and they also happen to be a personal favourite of Snap Wexley's, which means the two of them have been out a lot together. Especially since they got to D'Qar.

Poe heads across to the bike, giving it a once-over. BB-8 trundles up beside him, bleeping away, and he headtilts at the little astromech.

"You coming along?"

This gets him a very enthusiastic affirmative, and Poe turns to lift his droid up on to the back of the bike, where it secures itself rather happily with several metal lines fired from its central chassis.

Kylo can at least get onto his bike easily – the benefits of long legs – and he adjusts the mirrors and the grip to suit, first. No point riding it without it being made to fit him, after all. He kicks the starter, and the craft starts to thrum in readiness. 

"You'll need to follow me. I'm flying on instinct, not… navigation." 

"Got you," Poe agrees. "I'll… try not to enjoy myself _too_ much."

He hops up onto his own bike, making similar adjustments and checking the power levels. And… it comes alive with a single kick, making him grin again.

"I'd turn down the vibration if I thought it would make the slightest difference to your rampant libido," Kylo calls, over his shoulder, as he starts off and away. " _But we should, at least, get the girl back to D'Qar before I make you scream my name again. We likely won't be able to recruit her if we walk in reeking of sex_." 

" _You enjoy my rampant libido. Regularly, by default. But I really do promise to behave._ "

When they get there, at least. And… not enjoying himself 'too much' does not mean 'not at all'. Which would be why he whoops with delight as they race off, kicking the throttle harder and swooping in close to Kylo – not so close that he'll distract the other man, but close enough to make his happiness known.

The hot air is so much less oppressive like this, too. They hurtle into the desert, rapidly leaving Niima behind them, racing towards… whatever, _whoever_ , is unknowingly waiting for them out there.

Kylo isn't Anakin, and this is not a podracer (and to be fair, if it was, he wouldn't be flying it), but he does have a little skill behind the controls. Enough to gun it fast, and enough not to fall off. He doesn't do quite as many little tricks as Poe, but he definitely gives him a run for his money.

It's… a change. A vast change. A strip of cloth over his mouth and nose, instead of a heavy metal and leather mask. Wind whipping through his hair, and a vehicle between his legs that hums and purrs and shakes. It's… it's very different. Kylo can't enjoy flying the way Poe does, but this is probably the closest he can get to that, like Poe's knowledge of the Force through his sabre and through Eigengrau. It makes him smile, even as his eyes blink out flecks of sand. 

They careen off to the left, suddenly, when he feels a pull. There's a smudge over the top of one dune, and he thinks that if they just get beyond it, he'll find what he's looking for. " _This way_."

" _I got your six_ ," is Poe's reply, hurtling off after him. He really does love this: the feeling of liberation, but somehow more guttural than flying a ship. More raw and grounded – no pun intended – and certainly more tactile, given that there's nothing between him and the elements.

They've been going a little while when Kylo makes that turn, and Poe wonders what he's felt. Wonders precisely what they're going to find when they break over that next dune, and…

_Oh_.

He can see it, now, in the far distance: the semi-intact hulk of an Imperial-era Star Destroyer. The _Inflictor_. It juts up out of the desert floor a long way ahead of them, the perspective a little hard to wrap his head around because of how _big_ the thing is, lying silent and still, where it fell so many years ago.

There are other ships, too, scattered across the dunes. Way off to the right, he can make out what looks to be an X-Wing and a couple of TIEs, shattered where they landed, and – just for a second – he thinks of Starkiller Base. Thinks of the feeling in his stomach as he hurtled towards the ground, not knowing if he'd survive, and he whispers a few words to the Force, to the Maker, to the universe in general, for the pilots who fell here so long ago.

And then… he can see something else, something closer, on the sand plains stretching out immediately in front of them. The wreckage of another vehicle, yes, but not a ship.

It's an AT-AT, lying on its side, shimmering softly in the heat haze.

" _I doubt she understands it, if she can sense me at all. This may take some diplomacy_ ," Kylo says, as he pulls the bike to a halt a short distance away from the AT-AT. 

Kylo has never met someone Force-sensitive who wasn't aware of their gift, before. The first people he met – other than his mother and uncle – were those at Luke's new Jedi Academy. Even working for the First Order, for Snoke, he'd been sent new Knights who already had the fundamentals in order. 

It's strange. He doesn't remember not knowing he had the talent. It feels like the knowledge had always been there, but maybe he'd just been too young to differentiate between before and after. He kills the engine, and jumps from the bike.

"Hello?" 

There is no immediate response. Poe pulls his own bike in alongside Kylo's, cutting the power and clambering down. He doesn't have the Force, and he doesn't know what – precisely – Kylo can sense, but… something about this place seems _so very important_. Something unconnected to the history held within the Starship Graveyard.

Something… deeper. _Older_. _**Newer**_.

They can both be true.

For a long moment, the silence prevails, and then… then a figure emerges from the hatch of the AT-AT: a woman, wrapped in loose grey, armed with what looks to be a quarterstaff. She seems momentarily startled by the sight of them, but recovers herself very quickly, not moving in any closer.

"…Yes?" she says. Her tone is no-nonsense, clipped. Careful.

Kylo realises he has no idea what to say, now. "We – we've…" The galaxy needs you. "We've come from the Resistance. We… would like to… recruit you?"

" _Poe, next time I think about saving the galaxy, please remind me that I don't actually do **talking to people** very well, thank you_." 

Just behind the woman, a man pokes out. He's wearing a battered jacket, and he looks like he's torn between trying to protect the woman, and trying to hide behind her. He blinks, then shields his eyes with one hand. "…Poe?" 

The instant Poe sees the man, the instant he hears his name, he breaks into a radiant smile. "Finn?!"

He can't quite believe it, and yet, at the same time, he realises he shouldn't be surprised. It's him. The Stormtrooper. The one who saved his life, sort of. The man whose own fate has been weighing on Poe's mind since the last time he was here. _He's alive_.

He wants to rush over, but the woman with the quarterstaff is still watching the two of them with obvious wariness, and Poe doesn't quite dare.

"Recruit me?" the young woman repeats. She hasn't taken her eyes off Kylo this whole time. "You don't even know me."

"No, but I know you are strong in the F-- _that's the Stormtrooper_?" Kylo should really be paying attention to his own mission here, but he can't believe (or can, really) that they've bumped into this tr-- uh… ex-Stormtrooper here, with his Force-sensitive, of all people.

Finn smiles at the woman, and then walks past her and up to Poe. "You made it? I thought you'd died when the TIE-Fighter crashed." 

Kylo offers the woman an arch look. "Apparently the Force would like us to allow a reunion before we discuss saving the galaxy." 

"So it would seem," she concedes. She's still holding her weapon like she's ready to use it, but she doesn't object when Finn moves in closer to the shorter of their unexpected guests.

That's all the impetus Poe needs. He throws his arms around Finn as soon as the man gets near enough, hugging him tight. Genuinely overjoyed to see him alive and well. "I ejected right before impact. Woke up in the middle of nowhere, with no idea what had happened to you. I worried _you_ were dead."

"I walked back to the ship, but you weren't there. I didn't know where to look for you, and then the sand swallowed the ship up whole, and…" Finn claps him on the back, clearly overjoyed. "Man, am I glad to see you're alive. And… your mission?"

"That's why we're here," Kylo puts in, as mildly as he can. Maybe a little annoyed by someone else holding his Pilot, but it's only in friendship, from what he can see. "We need your help. I suspect… both of you." 

"You could start by telling us who _you_ are," the young woman pushes, eyes still on Kylo. She's relaxed a little, now – obviously she's heard Finn's stories of Poe, and their warm reunion has evidently helped matters, but it's clear that neither of them knows who Kylo is.

Poe lets go of the ex-Stormtrooper with a matching clap to the shoulder – and, OK, seriously, _that's_ where his jacket went! – and then immediately, warily, looks over at Kylo. The man may have an alias for use in town, but here… he's going to have to be honest.

"My… my name is Kylo Ren," he says, and pulls out the helmet from the knapsack on his shoulder. He tosses it onto the sand, knowing that at least one of them will recognise it. "Once the Supreme Leader Snoke's right-hand man. Dark Lord of the Sith… and Resistance Fighter." 

Finn doesn't have a blaster, but Poe does. The ex-trooper grabs it from the other man's holster, and goes to stand between the two and the man in grey. "Poe… Poe… that man… that man tortured you…" 

Panic and instinct flare all at once, and Poe immediately moves in next to Finn, hand going to his arm, not quite grasping hold of him. Not wanting to make him fire, accidentally or deliberately. His mind doesn't even process the fact that Kylo can stop blaster bolts in midair without breaking a sweat. All he sees is someone – someone he likes, and doesn't want to hurt – pointing a weapon at the love of his life.

"Easy, Finn, easy. Put the blaster down. A _lot_ has happened since you've been gone. A _lot_."

"For one, I broke him out of the First Order this time," Kylo says, with a wry smile. He's not reacting to the threatened death, but that could be because he doesn't fear the blaster. Not at all. "And I joined his cause. We destroyed the Starkiller."

"You… what?" Finn turns between the two, reading their faces. And then… "Is he in your head right now?" He gestures with one hand, over his own face. "They can do that, you know…" he turns to the woman, so she knows too. 

"I know," she answers. Her tone is half-aggressive, and half-drawn, as if she's caught between wanting these interlopers off her doorstep, and captivated by the threads of their story.

"He's not in my head," Poe insists, still looking at Finn. "I would know if he was. And… what he's saying is true. We destroyed the Starkiller. Kylo saved my life. He…" A hand on Finn's gun-arm. "Put the blaster down. It's OK. I promise you."

"…how would I know if he--"

Kylo sighs, and waves two fingers through the air. Finn's blaster-arm goes down. "I can show you what the difference is, if you really want to know. Trust me. I wouldn't bother trying to speak with you if I didn't respect your decisions and choices."

Finn yelps in shock, trying to fire automatically and finding he can't.

"If I let go of your arm, do you promise to at least let us talk for half an hour?" Kylo asks. "Your friend here is Force-sensitive. And you… are clearly important, too. We need both of you, to bring Luke Skywalker home." 

The woman's eyes go wide. "Luke Skywalker?" she whispers. "He isn't real. He's a myth. A… a legend."

"He's real," Poe says, putting a hand on Finn's shoulder, trying to calm him down, but talking to them both now. "Trust us. Kylo is his nephew."

Kylo lets go of Finn's hand, and then nods. He turns away from the ex-trooper, and towards the girl. "For my sins, yes. I'm his nephew. And if you need any more demonstration of my power, I'm happy to give it."

"He's… he's… definitely got powers," Finn mutters, staggering back once freed. "But why did you change sides?"

"Why did you?" Kylo retorts. 

"He changed sides because of me," Poe cuts in. He knows this is not the whole truth, knows the need to _resist_ was sparking deep in Kylo long before they met. But… he was still the catalyst. "We're with the Resistance, Finn. _Both_ of us."

"I… yes." Kylo thinks it's a bit too complicated to easily explain 'I hated being made into their slave but also I am somewhat culpable and I killed many people and I wanted to stop but also the Jedi messed my head up and it's a long story'. 

"…and you… want us to join?" Finn glances back and forth. "I'm just a nobody."

"A nobody who the Force sent to save Poe, who then saved me," Kylo argues. "And then sent you to the girl – to… what is your name?" 

"Rey," she answers, softly. Moving in closer, shouldering her quarterstaff. Still careful, still cautious, still poised, but calmer, now. "And… why do you need us? I'm just a scavenger. I'm not… I don't belong in that world."

A sad smile, and Kylo shakes his head. "No. You are strong in the Force. You… you can help me bring Balance. I was told to find you, so that we can bring my uncle home." 

"…The Force..?" Rey echoes, moving closer still. So obviously drawn, now. "I…" A flicker in her eyes, as if she's about to protest, about to insist that it can't be true, but the words fade before she can speak them, as if in the face of some deeper realisation. "…I can't. I need to stay. My family are coming back one day, and I need to be here when they do."

Wait, what? Kylo frowns. "What family?" 

" _My_ family," Rey answers. "They left me here, when I was very young. But they're coming back. They're coming back one day and I'll be ready."

The desperate longing in the young woman's voice is impossible to miss, and a little agonising to hear.

Kylo glances over to Poe. This was not supposed to happen. "We can leave a message for them. For i-- when they return. Or maybe we could… find them for you?" 

"Yeah, I mean, if they come back to Jakku, they'll know to check for a message, right?" From Finn's tone, it sounds like this is an old argument long played out. 

_Who leaves a child behind?_

"What if they're not _coming_ back?" Poe says, quietly.

"They _are_ ," Rey insists, a little fiercely. "They will."

" _Probably not helping, can't you see she's broken?_ " Kylo shoots across their bond, the mental tone pained. "Well… if we leave them a message, then if th-- when they do come back, they will know how to get in touch. And maybe if you come with us, the Resistance and the Republic can help track down where they are?"

"Yes! Yes. The Republic can find them!" This from Finn, again. "With their… networks. And records. And things."

He's so gloriously hopeful. Painfully naive too. Poe can't quite work out how someone like Finn lasted so long as a Stormtrooper, though of course he's glad the man has moved on to better things.

But before Poe can say anything, there's a distant sound. The unmistakeable, undeniable roar of twin ion engines, burning through the hot atmosphere.

"TIE-fighters," Poe exclaims, eyes immediately on the sky, on the horizon. "How did they find us so fast?"

"…the Supreme Leader," Kylo says, tone mournful. "He must have sensed Rey, too. We have to get out of here, and quickly."

"TIEs?" Finn pulls up the blaster again, even though he must know that it would be useless against the craft. "We need to _move_."

"We have a spaceworthy craft, back at Niima. We need to fly there, now." Kylo grabs his helmet, shoving it back into his bag, and pulling his sabre hilt out. "Who can fly?" 

"I can," Rey answers, at once. "But, I…"

It's obvious what she's thinking. None of this is anything to do with her. She doesn't need to run. She can just stay here. Except… also, that all of this is wrong. That, like it or not, she's caught up in this now.

That running is all she can do.

"Take one of the speeders," Poe tells Rey, all business. All need for survival. "Finn, you go with her. Kylo can come with me… and BB-8."

Still clinging on to the back of the speeder bike close by, BB-8 bleeps in approval.

"Although it's not going to do any damage, you might want to shoot," Kylo tells Finn. He moves over to Poe's bike, and leaps on, straddling it backwards, the droid between him and the rider's seat.

"…shoot… at TIE-Fighters. With a blaster. Right." Finn shakes his head. "Any chance they'll just follow you and leave?"

"They came for the girl," Kylo snaps. And then, "…Rey." Remember she has a name, he tells himself. "They likely don't even know Poe and I are here, not yet." 

"And it's best we keep it that way," Poe points out, slipping up onto the bike and kicking the ignition.

Rey, meanwhile, hops up onto the second bike like she was born to it, slinging her quarterstaff more securely across her back and letting Finn climb on behind her. "We can lose them better if we go through the outskirts of the Graveyard," she says to Poe. "It's a slightly longer route, but the cover will give us an edge."

Despite everything, Poe smiles. "Then take the lead. I've got your six."

The young woman looks puzzled. "My..?"

Ah. Non-soldier living on a remote world. "Your back. I've got your back."

Kylo's sabre twirls in his hand, igniting en-route. It flares out behind, and he's happy they're taking the rear guard. More chance he can use the Force and his blade to keep them safe. "Hurry. Where there's an advance party, there's more not far behind."

"You're telling me…" Poe murmurs. "Let's go."

And they roar off in a whirl of dust and sand, Rey taking the lead, with Poe bringing the second bike in close after her. He can tell, at once, how good she is at this, leaning into the throttle and gunning the bike up to full speed without hesitation, and it helps, because it means he can trust her to do this and concentrate on his own flightpath.

Although… he wonders what else she can fly. He knows that Kylo has found himself another Force-user, but Poe can't help thinking – hoping – he himself might have found another pilot.

The whine of the TIE-fighters draws closer, and Poe can feel them gaining. And… it's a much less fun sensation when you're not in a heavily-armoured X-Wing.

"This way!" Rey calls, suddenly, shunting sideways and hurtling through the wreckage of some kind of troop-carrier. Hard to work out precisely what type, given the state it's in. Poe turns to follow, weaving in and out of the debris, glad of the cover.

Finn, for his part, seems intent on holding onto both bike and Rey for dear life. Kylo doesn't blame him, because really? A blaster has no hope against a ship designed to break atmosphere and gun down X-Wings. They're like sitting womprats right now, even with him there to protect them.

Only one of the craft makes it inside, but it's enough. Green bolts lance out (and he's never got that, never understood why _red_ is for blasters, for Dark Side sabres, but… X-Wings?) and Kylo has to shear through the air to send the bolts skittering around them, has to really focus, and it's all he can do just to keep them from being hit, let alone send it back on their pursuers. 

"I don't know where the other one went," Kylo yells. "It might be waiting for us to emerge." 

"Stay as low as possible!" Poe calls over to Rey. "It confuses their tracking! But we also need to keep to cover!"

"I know, I know!" Rey replies, trying to squeeze every drop of power out of the speeder bike as she keeps gunning it forwards, hurtling sideways through the remnants of an exhaust vent and back out into the sunlight.

For a second, Poe isn't sure why Rey has risked doing that… until he follows, and sees the hulking wreck of the _Inflictor_ up ahead.

"Trust me!" Rey shouts, almost as if she knows what he's thinking. "If we try to go back to Niima like this, we'll never make it. We have to lose them here!"

Kylo glances over, and sees. Ah. So that's where she's headed. It seems apt to lose or destroy them in the remains of an Empire long gone, to take out the bastard offshoot in the corpse of its deceased father. Even if not poetic, the logic of it is undeniable. Undeniable and--

A bolt gets too close for comfort, almost grazing his shoulder. This is getting difficult to manage. He hisses, and then says to Poe, where only he can hear: " _Cut the engine when I say. I'm taking this bastard down. You'll have to circle back for me, after._ "

That makes concern flare in Poe's chest, at the realisation of what Kylo is obviously planning. " _Be careful_ ," he replies.

For the love of the Force, please be careful. Going one-on-one with a TIE-fighter is no mean feat. Especially when you don't have a ship.

" _Always_ ," comes Kylo's response, and then the command to cut the engine at just the right time. 

The bike stops fast, and the TIE does not. Kylo waits until it's almost on top of them before he springs up and off the bike, spinning up and over like he's riding a Rancor. He lands – braced on the roof – feet spread and one hand down on the metal hull for purchase as he rams his lightsabre into the hull, feet and hands going as he allows the forward momentum to drag the blade through it like a knife in butter. He lets it stay in until almost the end, then switches it off and lands (as lithely as you can) in the dust below.

The TIE-pilot clearly can't control what's left of his craft, and the ship goes screeching into the nearest bulkhead in a yowl of flame and death. 

Poe's eyes are wide with amazement – heart hammering in his chest – as he circles sharply around to where Kylo has landed, BB-8 bleeping away in shock and alarm at his back. Because… because… _fuck_ , that was something to see.

"Remind me to thank you later for that!" he calls out, as Kylo leaps back onto the bike behind him. As soon as the other man is aboard, Poe kicks the throttle back to full and they race forwards at speed, hurtling out over the sand again, with Rey and Finn's bike now some distance ahead.

"Oh, believe me, I'll remind you." Kylo's voice is rough with pleasure (half power, half victory) and he slides his left arm around Poe's waist for the time being, even with the droid between them. "I've always wanted to do something like that." 

"You're good at it!" Poe answers, with an audible grin, as they weave around more wreckage. "We still gotta do something about the other one."

The other one – the second TIE – is now a little ahead of them, and bearing down on where Rey is trying to make a break for the wreck of the _Inflictor_ itself. There's a long gash down the fallen Star Destroyer's side, obviously large enough for a speeder bike, but most likely not a safe fit for a TIE.

"I… I'll try to get into the pilot's head…" Kylo suggests, knowing that the two ahead of them are close to sitting targets. "Make him think he can do it. Make him…" Crash. It's the same as stabbing him through the heart, but somehow… it feels more of a violation.

But it's a violation that's necessary, Kylo guesses. Sometimes you just have to do it. He leans forwards, pressing his head to the back of Poe's for support, and then reaches out towards the man – yes, man – behind the controls. Slides in and finds that confidence, finds the – the arrogance and training and need to impress and – no. He yanks the controls hard, through the Force, sending the TIE into a sharp pull up, before it gets too close.

He felt too much like… like… a pilot. Kylo realises he couldn't do it, and instead he makes him fly far enough off that catching up will be more difficult.

"…sorry," he whispers, into Poe's ear.

"Don't be," Poe answers. He'd been able to feel little flickers of that through their bond, and the thoughts make his breath catch. "You bought them time."

He's right. Up ahead, Rey brings her bike rocketing into the gash in the wreck of the _Inflictor_ , disappearing from sight. Poe hurtles after her, wanting to get into cover too, knowing that they're now the only target for that TIE, when it recovers itself.

"We need to get to Niima, fast. If we can lose that one TIE enough, we can all get on the _Aquilae_ and break orbit before the First Order overwhelms us. Can you get them to… clip their wings following us?" Kylo asks. He isn't sure why he doesn't want to kill them, but he doesn't. He's beginning to get tired of pointless deaths. 

Somewhat ironically, Poe does not have the same qualms. Not when it comes to the First Order. But… "I can try. It won't be easy. Those things really _are_ frighteningly fragile. But… if I do it right, he might eject."

Still moving fast, he scans the debris field up ahead, eyes searching for… "There," he murmurs, thinking aloud, and arcs off to the side, changing trajectory and now heading straight into the wreckage of another large troop-carrier… no, not just a troop-carrier. This one was designed for starfighters, too. He can tell by how high and wide it is, as they roar inside, that TIE swooping around behind to give chase.

Kylo nods, and closes his eyes. He reaches into the room, getting a feel for anything not bolted down. Anything not stuck in place… he suddenly starts throwing up behind them like afterburn debris. He doesn't focus on where it lands, just on getting it to go up in the first place, running more interference. 

There's nothing quite like having a Force-user for a co-pilot. Poe can't quite see where all that debris is going, but he knows Kylo will be directing it away from them and towards their pursuer, so all he needs to do is keep heading forwards and try not to maintain any kind of predictable, target-shaped path. The TIE-fighter opens fire on them nonetheless, green bolts lancing into the broken deck-plating fairly close by, and Poe curses under his breath.

"Might want to up the ante!" he calls out, but it's clear they're thinking the same, because all of a sudden there's a painful crunch and an ion roar, as something strikes home and the TIE goes into a furious spin.

"I think I just played the whole hand," Kylo yells back, because it's clear there's not going to be anything following them for some time now. "Catch up with the kids. We need to get _off_ this cursed planet **now**!" 

"Seconded!" Poe agrees, and they arc sideways, off to the left, bursting out through some kind of old launch tube and into the hot sunlight once more. And…

…Rey swoops in close by, a grin on her face despite it all, Finn still clinging on behind her. It's like she knew where they would be. Where they _are_.

"Head for Niima!" Poe tells her. "Before any more of those bucketheads come after us!"

"You took them both down?" Finn yells, over the sands. "…how?"

"The Force," Kylo yells back at him. 

"…remind me not to mess with you."

"Good advice!" Poe concurs, with a grin.

And they race off, Rey still in the lead, roaring over the sands in the direction of Niima Outpost. The rest of the trip is, mercifully, uneventful, and eventually they can see the settlement up ahead, through the haze of heat. They come to a halt on the outskirts, and Poe can't help wondering if Rey is going to argue that she needs to stay behind again, now that they've…

…oh, by the Maker.

There's a First Order troop carrier parked on the edge of the east side landing zone, and there are Stormtroopers everywhere. And they're clearly looking for someone.

Several someones.

No prizes for guessing who.

"…I knew I had a bad feeling about this," Poe murmurs.

"…I'm not sure I can control that many minds at once," Kylo says, with a sigh. "If we're going to sneak in and steal the ship back, it's going to have to be by stealth, and not force. We've got a lightsabre, a blaster, and… well. Is anyone packing a grenade launcher?"

"Left mine on the _Finalizer_ ," Finn complains.

"Open to suggestions, while we pull up somewhere…" Kylo says, trying to work out a viable plan. 

"We could always take a _different_ ship," Rey suggests, in the tone of one rapidly formulating a plan in their head. "It would _technically_ be stealing, but… the owner did steal it himself, so…"

So, that makes it OK. Or less bad. Or something. She's vague about this.

"Which ship?" Poe asks. There's a rather nice looking quad-jumper off to the side, and he's sort of hoping she means that. "The jumper?"

"Too obvious," Rey replies. "Needs to be something they won't be expecting to see move. Like that hunk of garbage over there."

And she points. Poe looks in the other direction, and damn-near shrieks out loud. "…Garbage?" he repeats, aghast. " _Garbage?!_ That's…"

How? How?! He doesn't know how. He just _knows_.

"That's the _Millennium Falcon!_ "

"…kill. Me. Now," says Kylo Ren.

Finn looks between them, confused. 

"I was serious. Kill me. And send my ashes into space."

"No one is killing anybody," Poe insists, a little taken aback by the vehemence of his lover's reaction. Even though he really shouldn't be surprised at all. "Except any Stormtroopers who come near us." A beat. "No offence to present company."

Running around with a Grey Sith, an ex-Stormtrooper and a secret Force-sensitive is an absolute minefield, it really is.

"I hope you know how to fly it," Kylo complains, still not happy that it's that damn ship. Of course it is. Complete with traumatic associations and heavy with history. "Is it even still spaceworthy? It looks… how _long_ has she been grounded?"

They should probably try to steal it, now. It is – or was, and maybe still is – the fastest ship in the galaxy. And although it's well known, it's also very hard to keep up with. 

"It's been here for years," Rey answers. "It's… if I'd known… _that's_ the ship that made the Kessel Run in _fourteen parsecs?!_ "

"Twelve," comes the automatic, Solo-response. "Twelve parsecs." Kylo hates himself for even saying it. 

"Damn straight," Poe concurs. "Still don't know how he did it."

He himself is staring at the legendary ship like a man in love. Like he wants to run over and touch it. Like… like…

…Which is when he processes that they're going to steal it. That _he is going to get to fly it_. The _**Millennium Falcon**_.

"We should go over there," he says, trying to contain his enthusiasm, to maintain his focus. There are a _lot_ of Stormtroopers around, after all. "We need to get inside before they see us."

"No one is going to think we'd be so stupid as to steal an old Corellian YT-Model freighter," Kylo says, but he does agree they need to move. "All right… I suggest we walk firmly, without running. Ignore them for as long as possible, until they start shooting at us."

"Is that a Force thing?" Finn asks.

"No, it's just that people tend to ignore confident walks," Kylo replies. "You know, not _everything_ is a Force-thing."

"…I was just asking!"

"Would you two keep it down?" Rey hisses, warningly, her eyes on a pair of troopers who have just glanced over at them. It's obvious the two aren't sure who or what they're seeing.

At least, not until BB-8 unlatches from the back of the speeder bike and drops to the sandy ground. The First Order might not be directly searching for the little astromech any longer, but they haven't all forgotten it yet.

The troopers glance at each other, and Poe's stomach lurches with alarm.

They've just found the droid they're looking for.

" _Quick_ ," he hisses. "We need to go _now_."

Kylo waits for the others to run, first, ready to cover them from behind if need be. And then he kicks up a wave of sand between them and the troopers, using the Force, belting after them as fast as his very, very long legs will carry him.

"Please tell me you both know how to fly this?" Finn asks, aware he's surrounded himself with pilots and… something else.

"Poe can fly it," Kylo insists, as they pound up the loading bay. He shoves some momentum behind Poe's droid, making sure it gets on in time, too. 

There's a burst of weapons' fire as they all race inside, the hatch slamming shut once all five of them are aboard. They don't have long to think about any of this.

"I can fly anything," Poe replies. "Rey… you need two for this kind of ship. You up to helping?"

"You just try to stop me," Rey answers. She looks at Finn and Kylo, and then points over to a ladder leading both up and down. "Gunning stations. We're going to need cover."

"Good thinking," Poe concurs. And then… he grabs Kylo and kisses him, very quickly. Completely caught in the moment, and not even thinking about the fact that their two young charges don't know about _that_ whole part yet.

"Get us home safe, flyboy," Kylo tells his lover, gripping his arm for a moment before he dives towards the lower station. 

Finn just shrugs, and goes towards the upper one. 

"Put on your headset," Kylo calls out. "I'll talk you through the gunnery controls. And I'm sure we're all going to want to co-ordinate our escape." 

Outside, the weapons' fire gets worse. "We have to go now!" Rey insists.

Poe doesn't argue. He's never been aboard this ship before, but somehow he feels as though he knows it, like some magnificent figure admired from afar. Like…

…metaphors later, Dameron. Escaping now.

Rey and Poe race down to the cockpit. Poe scrambles into the pilot's seat, with Rey moving into place beside him, and they both pull on headsets so they can talk to the other two. BB-8 rolls in behind them, watching and bleeping in encouragement.

Both pilots immediately begin flipping switches, powering the ship up, working around each other like they just _know_ what the other is doing, and Poe thinks, again, how much he needs to get this girl into an X-Wing. See what she can do with one of those.

"You ready for this?" he asks her.

She grins. "Are you?"

Probably not. Because this is the _Millennium Falcon_.

And… up they go, the thrusters ripping the ship free of its mooring lines, of the debris that has settled around it through its many years of disuse.

Beneath them, the troopers start firing upwards, in a haze of red blaster bolts.

"Angle the deflectors!" Poe calls out, fighting against _something_ that is really throwing the power levels off.

"Already on it!" Rey replies.

Kylo, meanwhile, tries in a very short space of time to talk Finn through what's needed to shoot in the _Falcon_ 's gunnery. Whilst simultaneously laying down as much blanketing fire as he can, dissuading the first ships from getting too close.

"…how do you **handle** it when it keeps moving?" Finn demands.

"…if I tell you 'the Force' will you stop asking?"

There's a lot of ships, coming up fast. Though they might not have expected anyone to steal this freighter, they were clearly ready for something. Kylo blasts out like a madman, muscle memory and the Force itself guiding his hand on the targeting computer. In fact, it's more of a distant blip. He might not have inherited the flying skills of his family, but he's a damn good shot. That, at least, he's proud of, as he sends one TIE barrelling into another. 

Something on the cockpit console starts beeping. Midway through trying to bring them up, Poe stares at it. "Huh, that's odd…"

"…Compressor," Rey completes. "On the fuel line."

"Seriously? What kind of insane maniac would do something like that?"

"Exactly." And Rey reaches over to prime it, which instantly kicks the power levels back to normal.

"Nice one," Poe murmurs, giving her an approving nod, and then grins. "Hold tight."

He pushes hard forwards on the throttle, and the _Millennium Falcon_ rockets upwards, and that feeling is so breathlessly wonderful that he whoops out loud.

"Stop h--" Kylo prevents himself from the profanity he was about to utter, muting it instead to, "…having too much fun up there…" Nice save. Damnit. They're going to need to have two levels of conversation all the time, if this 'being around other people' thing continues.

"This is the _Millennium Falcon_ , Kylo," Poe replies. "I can't have anything _other_ than too much fun."

But they need to get out of here, and fast. "We gotta break atmo," he says, looking over at Rey again. "Take the stick. I need to program in the hyperspace co-ordinates."

"Where are you taking us?" she asks, voice full of hesitancy.

"To the Resistance's main base of operations," he answers. Habit makes him not name the planet or the system out loud, and he realises that's wrong of him. They're asking Rey to trust them, to go with them, and the least he can do is be honest. "D'Qar. In the Ileenium system."

Kylo thinks that Poe should also remember that he grew up on this blasted ship and take that into consideration when he gets a ship-boner, but he's going to take that up with him later. "You may wish to punch it quickly. The _Finalizer_ is in orbit, and will be scrambling more TIEs."

"Yeah, and we're just one ship," Finn worries. 

Punch it. Now. Whilst they're still in atmo. Poe bites his lip and decides that yes, he _can_ , and he looks over at Rey.

Maybe she understands. From the flicker in her eyes, she's on the same mental page.

"I'm priming the hyperdrive," Poe announces, to all of them. "Prepare to jump."

"This close to the planet?" Rey wonders, though it's clear she isn't arguing.

"Yes."

"Right." And, no-nonsense, the young woman reaches over and flips something else. "Fuel pump," she explains, when Poe gives her a quizzical look.

"Seriously?" he exclaims.

"Yep."

Some people should not be allowed near beautiful ships.

Which is when something starts to hiss and beep. Something angry and noisy and dangerous. Kylo swears, and yells over the comm: "Trooper – Finn – whatever your name is – keep the fire going, I need to see to that…"

The pilots need to fly, the gunner needs to shoot, and Kylo is probably redundant everywhere else on the ship right now. But patching this monster up? That he can do. Even if he can't fly it, he's helped mend her broken wings more than a few times.

The Sith leaps out backwards from the tunnel, calling for BB-8 to come help. 

"What's going on back there?" Poe calls out, suddenly fighting with the controls. "It's… Maker, it's the motivators… Kylo, whatever you're doing, it needs to be fast! I can't punch the hyperdrive until it's fixed…"

"…And the ship will flood with poisonous gas if you're not careful!" Rey adds. She looks at Poe, obviously torn, and then glances over her shoulder. "I'm coming to help."

And she leaps up, racing out of the cockpit.

Kylo is already in the access hatch, trying not to choke, and trying to repair the break in the pipes. "I'm well aware of our current precarious situation. Believe me, I've patched this rust bucket up more often than any of you have had hot dinners."

It is, however, hard to see which tools he needs whilst he's stuck in the hole. He Force-tugs the lot closer, so he's got less chance of missing whatever wrench or tape he needs. "Have I mentioned recently how much I hate this damn ship? She might be fast, but it's a wonder she doesn't explode when you sneeze."

"She's garbage," Rey concurs – sort of concurs – as she skids to a halt close by and drops immediately onto her stomach, holding out the wrench that she somehow knows Kylo will need next. "But she's also a legend."

Whirling nearby, also trying to help, BB-8 bleeps an agreement.

Back in the cockpit, Poe is still wrestling with the controls, trying to keep the ship level as they start to break atmosphere. Something flashes on his scope, and he curses. "Finn, you see that? Two of them, hard to starboard!"

"I see it, I see it," the ex-trooper says, spinning his seat about and locking on the targeting panel. It flashes victoriously, and he sends cannon fire at them. "DID YOU SEE THAT?"

"I saw it!" Poe answers, with a whoop of victory. "Perfect shot!" The younger man really is good at this, once he stops overthinking it. Perhaps not a pilot himself, but very definitely one of life's gunners.

"All right… I got this… you tell me if you see any more before I do?" Finn asks. 

"Copy that!"

Back at the access hatch, Kylo sighs, but accepts the tools from Rey with grace. "A legend, but you didn't grow up on her," he points out, quietly. "She's not garbage. She's rusty, and patched together, but she's not garbage. Just… annoyingly prone to succumbing. It'd help if my father bothered to keep her maintained properly… although he's not had her in years." 

Midway through reaching for something else, Rey evidently catches the words 'my father' and freezes, stunned. "…Your father? You're… you're _Han Solo's son?!_ "

A wince, and the taller man waves his empty hand for her to put the tape in. "…I thought the whole 'Luke Skywalker is my uncle' part gave that away?" he asks. 

Rey hands over the tape and just… stares. It's obvious that her mind isn't processing all of this in a linear fashion just yet, and that she's scrambling to connect the things she knows to be true with the things that, until today, she thought were mere legends. "I… I didn't think. No wonder you know this ship so well."

"I grew up on it," he says, and vanishes back into the hole. "Or a lot of my childhood, anyway. Wait… how big are your hands?" 

"Uhm… this big?" Rey tries, holding one up. "Smaller than yours. Need me to..?"

And then she clearly realises precisely where he's up to in the repairs and – without waiting for an invitation – she hops down into the access hatch with him.

Kylo has to bite back a little surge of irritation, but it's only a little surge. She's got a defter touch than he has, and… okay. He can let someone else help for a change. It doesn't make him any less to allow someone else to do this.

"Make sure you – yes, that… he bypassed the second overflow years ago and never got around to reinstating it… wouldn't be choking if he did," he mutters. 

BB-8 peers over the lip, into the hole, and blips a question.

"There was a run in on an asteroid belt," Kylo explains.

"How's it going back there?" Poe calls, from the cockpit. They've broken atmosphere now – which explains the smoother ride – and they're close to breaking orbit as well. "We're going to be sitting ducks if we can't jump out of here soon!"

Not that he's outright trying to rush anyone. Except he sort of is. It's hard not to, with the _Finalizer_ looming ahead of them the way it is, all impassable and… _final_.

"You nearly got it?" Kylo asks, surprisingly less brusque than he thought his tone might come out. "Just… yes. That. There. That's it, three turns normally…"

"I got it, I got it," Rey murmurs, and… "There!"

The ship whirs as the damaged systems re-engage, and there's another whoop from the cockpit. "Nice work back there!" Poe shouts. "Hang tight, everyone!"

He flicks switches overhead, the co-ordinates primed and – as a burst of weapons' fire emanates from the Star Destroyer up ahead – reality streaks to white as the _Millennium Falcon_ races forwards into hyperspace.

And they're away.


	28. First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, peoples! We're back, with some more lovely plot for you all. :-)
> 
> And, as a reminder, starting this Saturday we'll be doing a three-part updateathon (i.e. a chapter a day, rather than every other day). We've got a huge arc to take you through, and believe us when we tell you that this is one you won't want to miss. We've been building up to it for a _long_ time.
> 
> It is _also_ the darkest this fic is going to get. So. Time to dig out the liquor and hugs. You're gonna need 'em.

With the ship safely in hyperspace, co-ordinates punched and astronav working automatically, the four Humans and BB-8 all gravitate towards the main lounge area. Kylo won't sit, pacing slightly, hands clasped and expression… complicated until everyone arrives.

"The First Order was looking for you, Rey," he tells her, when they're all together. "The Supreme Leader likely intended to make you his new pupil." 

Rey won't sit either, standing a little way off, her own expression a mixture of wary and drawn. "Why?" she asks. "Why would anyone be interested in me? I've never even left Jakku before."

"You have a talent with the Force that you have yet to tap into," Kylo explains. "It awakened… when I arrived on Jakku the first time. You… have a great destiny ahead of you. And the Supreme Leader – Snoke – wishes to turn you into a pawn of Darkness."

Kylo sometimes forgets to turn off the Dread Portent when he's talking about Force things. It's hard, when you were brought up like that.

"…you're saying Rey's a Jedi?" Finn asks, eyes wide. "Like you?"

"I'm a Sith," Kylo corrects him. "…a Grey one, but a Sith all the same."

"…so you're still evil?"

Kylo pinches the bridge of his nose. "No."

"It's… complicated," Poe cuts in. He's no expert on all of this… except maybe he _is_ now, isn't he? Either way, he wants to help explain it. "Light and Dark… are not the same as Good and Evil. Not exclusively."

"How can 'Dark' not be 'Evil'?" Rey asks, looking between Kylo and Poe.

"Because 'Dark' is emotional. But not all emotions are painful. And even painful emotions are not always bad. Remembering someone you lost, and grieving… if you use that to do a good _deed_ , it isn't evil," Kylo tells her. "It's just that it's… a very difficult path to walk for most people, because it can become overwhelming. And because of that, the Jedi decided to put a blanket ban on emotional attachments and powers."

Finn frowns. "So you don't kill people?"

"Only if I have to," Kylo answers. "And not for malice or fun." Pause. "…not now."

It's obvious that Rey is having a hard time with all this. But… she doesn't walk away. Doesn't back off. She listens and she watches Kylo's face, watches the way he moves. And…

"What exactly do you want with me?" she asks. "You… you're saying I can use the Force? That the Force is _real_?"

"…you… saw what I did on Jakku?" Kylo asks, carefully. Then, deciding a better demonstration might be called for, he turns to Finn. "Shoot me."

"What?"

"Shoot me. You've seen it. Shoot me."

Finn looks to Poe and back again, for some sign this is a trick, then pulls out the blaster and (still hesitating) snicks off the safety and pulls the trigger.

The bolt gets half the distance before Kylo's hand comes up and halts it, crackling, in the air between them. "You can learn how to do this. You can learn… though I suspect you'll prefer the control of the Jedi, to the… storm of the Sith. I need you to help me take down Snoke. We need to get my uncle back, and the Force – my _grandfather_ – told me to find you, to do it." 

Rey's eyes go wide at that, the glow of the hovering blaster bolt falling across her face as she paces in closer, staring at it. Captivated, almost, caught between disbelief and a profound need to see _more_.

Poe's eyes go wide, too, albeit for different reasons. He allows himself a little smile, staying quiet, glad that their two young charges are far too distracted by the spectacle to pay him much attention right now.

"Your grandfather?" Rey breathes. "You mean… Darth Vader? But he… he's long dead. How could he possibly..?"

"He was Darth Vader, but he was also Anakin Skywalker. My mother's father, as well as my uncle's," Kylo explains, lowering his hand but keeping the blaster bolt in place. "And those who are strong in the Force may sometimes visit others, as… ghosts. To give them messages, and guidance. To give them visions of what can be, and what might be."

Kylo knows the bolt has to go somewhere, so he walks closer to it. It could damage the ship, so he closes his fist around it and ekes out the energy slowly, letting it ground through him and dissipate, rather than exploding or worse. 

"I can show you some of the basics, but my uncle – he is the Jedi Master. He can teach you the fine control needed. I believe all three of us can take down Snoke together. And if… if you tried to go back to Jakku… his operatives would capture you, and torture you, and try to bend you to do _evil_." 

Rey listens to all of this carefully, obviously torn by it, by the need to go back to Jakku, and… by what Kylo is offering. More than offering. _Promising_.

"All right," she says, softly, her eyes flicking over to Finn as she speaks. "All right. I will try… but I don't see how I can take down some Dark Side Master." Some part of her clearly wants to find out, though.

"You're untrained, but I can sense you are strong," Kylo tells her. "And if all three of us combine our skills, we can destroy him. I am sure." He turns his head to Poe. "How long do we have before we reach D'Qar?" 

"About twenty minutes or so," Poe answers. He doesn't have to check anything to work it out. He just knows. Even in an unfamiliar ship: a ship he wants to explore every inch of, still, though he's aware now is not the time.

Maybe on D'Qar. It is the _**Millennium Falcon**_ , after all.

"…not really enough time to give you a proper training in the Force," Kylo says, and wonders how you're supposed to do this. His own training came a little after he'd gathered the basics for himself, and then he's only trained Knights with previous knowledge, so…

Hmm. "I could show you the basics of a lightsabre. And… how to anticipate things in the Force?" 

Finn leans forwards on the holotable, and sets off the tiny characters fighting. "Sorry," he says, cutting the power again before he sits back, hands up in a gesture of innocence and surrender. "I just… never saw someone use the Force. Before Jakku, I mean."

"We're not as common as once we were," Kylo says, as diplomatically as he can, considering he murdered most Force-sensitives. 

"Then… show me," Rey agrees, after a moment, pacing a little closer. "If you're saying I can somehow do this… show me."

BB-8 bleeps in support and approval and rolls to sit next to Poe, looking up at him for a second and then turning its attention back to Kylo and Rey. Apparently wanting to watch.

Kylo unhooks his sabre from his belt, and offers it to her, pommel-first. "Take this. Be careful where you point it when you turn it on, and watch the exhaust vents. Get a sense for the blade, first… and when you're ready, close your eyes and… _feel_." 

Rey stares at the sabre like she shouldn't. Like she really, really shouldn't be thinking… But she does. She reaches out, taking the hilt, seeming almost surprised at first, feeling the weight of it, and then – pointing it out into open space – she thumbs the weapon into life.

"…Whoa…" she breathes, softly, now staring at the vivid, flickering red blade. "That's…"

Poe smiles as he watches her. He remembers what it felt like, that day on Eigengrau, when Kylo let him try this. He can only imagine what it must be like for someone who also has the Force, even if they're not familiar with it yet.

There's a soft whirr as Rey lifts the blade, raising it so as to hold the hilt in both hands, taking a deep breath and… _feeling_.

"That one is mine. We create our own, so they… match us. So you won't resonate with it like you would of your own creation. But you can get the basic feel for it," Kylo explains. He doesn't like her holding it, not… really. It's an intensely personal weapon, and he only really liked it when Poe had his hands on it.

…not like that.

Anyway. It's strange watching her do it, and he'd rather have her waving a stick around instead, but this is 'save the galaxy' level stuff, so maybe you make tiny sacrifices (and later let your fiancé play with it again to even things out). 

"When you're ready, close your eyes and keep them closed. I'm going to send small things towards you. Don't try to hear them, just try to… be aware they're there. The flickers in the air, in the _Force_. Alterations in the currents, lines of a web tugged…" It feels strange to teach the very basics, instead of brute force attacks and defence. He'd never progressed far enough to be a Jedi Knight, let alone a Jedi Master. And as a Sith Lord, his Apprentice is a non-Force-sensitive pilot who – whilst dextrous, fast and agile – lacks that intangible extra perception. 

Rey looks at him, listening, obviously a little surprised at first, but then… something seems to settle in her mind, in her eyes, and she nods, tightening her grip on the sabre. "All right. Do it. I'm ready."

And she closes her eyes.

And… is it Poe's imagination, or did the room suddenly go strangely _electric_?

Kylo looks around for things to lift… there aren't many sensible choices, so he opts for anything that's small enough to be hand-held and with both hands palm-up… they float around between head and waist height, lifting from where they sat. He puts a finger to his lips to tell the other two to be quiet, and then he sends the first thing in.

It's a fork. It's small, and it will deflect well, and he turns it so there's the maximum amount of surface area to hit for Rey's first go. He pings it across at the speed and strength of an idle toss, and lets her react to it. 

Rey swings the blade as the little object comes spinning in. It's clear she has some sense of where it's coming from, given the angle of her stroke, but her timing is slightly off, and the fork pings lightly – harmlessly – off her shoulder instead.

"Again," she says, at once, not opening her eyes, re-taking her stance. "Do it again."

The fork comes around from behind, as he knows she's still tracking it, and a little faster this time. Kylo's not out to hurt or embarrass her, just to get her to work past the natural instinct everyone who hasn't been trained has. 

He doesn't speak, because he's trying to keep the distraction levels down. He does, however, offer Poe a small smile. He knows he must find this weird, after all. 

He's right. Weird but fascinating. Poe smiles back, and keeps watching, wanting to see how quickly Rey picks this up. Suspecting… it will be faster than she expects.

And, this time, when Rey swings with the sabre she catches the fork in midair, sending it spinning away off to the side. The stroke is still quite rough, and very _emotional_ , but the success brings a sudden grin to the young woman's face.

" _Got you_."

"See. With practice, you will sense things through the Force that you cannot possibly see, hear, or feel otherwise," Kylo says, approval ringing in his tone. "You will be able to predict how people will act, and counter and block. You'll master control over objects like this…" and he sends a caf-pot next, small but still a reasonable size.

"…guess this is when I wish I had one of those, huh?" Finn jokes, though it's clear he doesn't mean it. "I'll stick with my bl-- oh, I still got your blaster." He fiddles with it, and offers it back to Poe. Apparently he regularly absconds with others' things. 

Poe grins, and takes his weapon back, automatically checking the safety and charge before he holsters it. "Making a habit of that, aren't you?" he says, very warmly. "And thanks. The jacket, you can keep. Looks good on you."

And then he promptly has to duck as that caf-pot comes flying towards his head, impacting off the wall behind instead. Perhaps Rey senses the emotion this provokes, the bubble of surprise and amusement, because – eyes still closed – she turns in his direction with a little smile. "Sorry."

Kylo maybe let the pot go a bit close to his pilot out of jealousy. Maybe. Even though he knows Poe would never… it's still hard to witness him flirting. Even if only slightly. He has to fight down the angry little sensation, to temper it with some kind of patience or faith, before he's ready to send the next thing towards Rey. Next… things. Two at once, staggered so she needs to sweep through to get both. 

It's obvious how fast Rey is picking this up, because she strikes the first object with ease and then moves her feet to improve the angle on the second. And… she gives just a little flourish with the sabre before she returns to a neutral stance, evidently pleased with herself.

"Again?" she says, asking this time.

"Put the sabre out… I want you to catch something, next. I'm going to throw it towards you, and you either deflect it with the Force, or catch it with it…" Kylo isn't sure she'll manage, but she's clearly adept at this, and the more basics she understands, the easier it will be for Luke to train her. 

"All right," Rey agrees, letting the blade flicker to nothing, but keeping the hilt in her hand, almost as if she's poised to raise it again. Ready to use it. Some kind of instinct makes her lift her other hand just slightly, ready to react at the barest sense of movement.

Kylo tosses something – a pad – as lightly as if he'd thrown it with his own hand. He could have, in all fairness, but it will arc more obviously to her senses because of the Force power behind the throw. 

Just as it seems as though the pad is going to sail past Rey's head, her hand snaps up at the last second and seizes it. The action obviously takes her by surprise, because her eyes finally open now, staring up at the thing she's caught in something like wonder.

"I just… I knew," she says, by way of explanation. And exclamation. "I just knew."

"I know… now I want you to catch it without your hand. Stop its forward momentum. Catch it, and freeze it, if you can. If not, bat it away from you. You can keep your eyes open for this one…" Kylo waits for her to get ready, then he sends over a small medical supplies box. 

On some level, it almost seems as though Rey finds this harder with her eyes open. She stands ready, waiting, watching… then that box comes flying towards her, and her hand goes up, and…

It stops. About a foot in front of her, level with her head, hovering in midair. And this time, Rey isn't touching it.

"That really is impressive," Poe says, encouragingly.

"I told you… massive potential," Kylo purrs, sounding utterly pleased. Mostly because he doesn't seem to have fucked this up yet, though he might well not be teaching this Jedi-enough for Luke's liking, surely he can't corrupt anyone in half an hour? 

"So when does Rey get a… lightsabre?" Finn jumps in.

The Sith rolls his eyes. "Later. She has to make her own. Under… Master Skywalker's tutelage. And he'll show her how to hone her skills much more than I am, now. This is just… baby steps." Very, very long baby steps. 

Still holding that little box up with the Force, Rey gives it a gentle spin, and watches it turn in midair. Clearly captivated by the sight of it. It wobbles too much after a few seconds and she has to catch it with her hand, but it doesn't change her obvious joy at having gotten this far.

"Can't you _both_ teach me?" she asks.

Kylo flinches. Everything in the air suddenly isn't in the air any more. There's a moment of panic on his face, before he schools it blank. "…I'm not sure we should… try that. Unless it turns out you're not… Jedi."

Mostly because he's sure he'd fuck it up and send her Darkness into Snoke's hands. He might have got control of himself, but it took him decades to do it. Decades, and a Sith temple, and Poe. He's still not entirely sure how he kept the shield up between himself and Snoke since he got off Eigengrau, and there's always that worry that he _hasn't_ and the other man is in his head and biding his time and… 

"It's… difficult. To do it. Sith, I mean. Dark Side. You should try with Luke, and then… I can show you some of what you'll face. When you're grounded enough. I know we need balance, but…"

Why does it just sound like he's insulting her ability, when really it's his own lack of confidence? 

It's clear that Rey can tell she's said the wrong thing. Or… at least, said it at the wrong time. "I don't mean… full Dark Side," she says, a little quickly. "I'm not… not that." Probably. "I just mean… you know what you're doing. And…"

I want to keep learning, is the unspoken part. The very obvious unspoken part.

"I… yes. I… it's…" Kylo clears his throat. "I'm sorry. It's just that I only recently… mastered the Dark. And I haven't trained… anyone… in my own path. And I…" honest. Be honest. "I wouldn't want to… corrupt you. When I'm not sure how to keep someone else from falling." Or even sure I can stay this way myself.

He tries to stand a little taller, then. "I want to make sure I do things in the best possible way. And I think we should let Luke get you… stable, before we go onto… things I've only just got to grips with myself." 

"I don't want to be corrupted," Rey answers. "I just want to learn." _Everything_. "And… why would you corrupt me? If you're not trying to."

It's obviously a difficult concept for her to consider. She must know something of the Jedi, and the Sith, but reconciling it with how she feels… Poe guesses that must be difficult. Especially with no prior training.

And… even with prior training, there seems to be next to no-one else who understands the concept of Grey Sith. It may be something old, but it's also… something new.

"Because… the reason the Jedi banned emotion was because resisting giving in to it is incredibly difficult," Kylo says, not entirely sure why he's now advocating for people not to follow him. "Because it's like flying with the autopilot… entirely disconnected. You have to course-correct more often. And for some, the level of control is… very difficult to maintain. And then because of the moratorium meant that anyone practicing it, by definition, was… disobeying direct orders. So they cultivated a counter-culture. They… revelled in the deepest, basest parts of the Force. Instead of using emotion to help, they…"

Kylo swallows. "…they became murderers, for the sake of murder. They threw themselves into every Dark act in the thought that it made them stronger. And for some, it did. But… for… over fifteen years I have trained at the beck and call of one who only wishes harm. Power and cruelty for the sake of themselves. My… knowledge of how to train others was filtered through him. I have never trained another Sith, or any Force-user, in my own ways. To my knowledge, there hasn't been another of my kind in several thousand years." 

"But there were others?" Finn asks.

"At least one," Kylo confirms. "She's long-since gone, but she helped me to find this inner balance. It is precarious, but it is… who I am, now." 

"This is new to you," Rey says, softly, in some kind of understanding. Perhaps she knows it, feels it, through the Force, even if she doesn't fully know how, yet. Or… perhaps regular intuition is enough. "This way of thinking. It's…" A pause. She watches Kylo's face for a long, long moment. "What made you change your mind?"

Kylo's eyes flicker sideways, to Poe, and then back. "A very brave man. And also… the space to think without my every thought being policed and controlled. But even then, I wouldn't have been able to do it, without Poe to push me. I had been unhappy for…" ever… "…a long time, doing what I did. But Poe made me see I could be something _else_." 

Poe blushes, just a little. He doesn't speak, but there's a lot in his eyes, especially when he looks over at Kylo, smiling quietly. Happily. Still amazed by how far they've come, in so short a time.

Rey obviously catches the look, because she glances at Poe, and then back to Kylo. "It was… for love?" she asks, very softly.

Kylo nods. A tiny, little nod, but it says so much. A tightness around the eyes (fighting the slightest little prick of dampness), a swallowing to try ease the way his gut hurts with it. Definitely love. Absolutely insane, head-over-heels love. (And then he remembers all over that they're _engaged_ and he has to reach out to Poe through their bond. " _I still don't deserve how perfect you are_.")

"Congratulations!" Finn says, clapping Poe heavily on the shoulder. "I mean, you love him back, right?" 

" _Of **course** you deserve it. You deserve everything. And I'm not perfect,_ " Poe insists, over the bond. And then, at almost the same time, he grins at Finn. "Yeah. I definitely love him back. It was… unexpected. And undeniable. And… it changed everything."

A strange look flickers in Rey's eyes and she might – might – be glancing at Finn at this point. Maybe. Just for a second.

Kylo notices. He notices, because he can feel things others radiate. And also because – at last – he can recognise that longing for what it is, having known it first-hand. But later. They just got them off Jakku. There's a galaxy to save, and an uncle to bring home. (Doesn't mean there won't be time for other love stories, though, he thinks to himself with a smile.)

"If nothing else, I am going to need to train you in how to _fight_ the Dark. Not the power of it over yourself, but fighting someone who **wields** it. Jedi rely on set methods, set techniques. But they do not really train in how to counter the attacks of a Sith, or of another breed of Dark Side user. I can show you how Snoke will fight, and you can learn how to fight back against him," Kylo offers. 

He should tell her, right? "He will attempt to interfere with your thoughts. He is… skilled at that. You need to be able to hold him out, to recognise his actions and his voice for what they are: lies and attacks." Kylo can't help but wonder if he'd have been able to hold out better, had they known how to train him in it. 

It's a concept that Rey clearly finds disconcerting, though she nods nonetheless. "I want to know how. I need to know how. If it's… If I'm going to do this, I need to understand."

She paces closer, laying the little object she's still holding on the edge of the holotable, and watching Kylo's expression carefully. "There's something else I need to know. Why me? You're obviously right about me having some connection to the Force, but there must be others who could say the same. Why am I any different?"

"I don't know," Kylo admits. "You… how old are you?" 

"Nineteen," she answers. "I'm nineteen."

He thinks this through. "You were old enough to have been found by Luke's recruitment people. Perhaps not brought to train, but to have been on his list. He did not train as young as the Jedi of old. But you were not around for…" the massacre. The killing of all the young Jedi. The… "What do you recall of your childhood, before Jakku? Of your parents?"

Rey's eyes go somewhat distant, and perhaps – through the Force – Kylo might catch a tiny glimpse of it. The cries of a little girl, too young to be alone, yet left facing the harsh emptiness of Jakku long before she ever should have done.

"…Almost nothing," she answers, softly. "I remember… flickers of them. I remember their smiles. I remember… something that took those smiles away. I…"

A pause. Rey shakes her head. "I don't like to think about it."

"Why did you stay? Did someone tell you to stay? Or did you just… hope they would come back?" Kylo pushes, but gently. He can sense the pain around this, and he doesn't want to inflict more without necessity. "I suspect the Force had its reasons for putting you there. Perhaps… for safe-keeping. It has not been a very safe galaxy for those of us who are Force-sensitive. Not for many years." And he was the cause of much of it.

"I had to stay," the young woman whispers. "I had to be ready, for when they came back for me. I knew they'd come back for me, so they could take me home to… to wherever _home_ really is…"

"Home is not so much a place as the people in it." Kylo looks over to Poe, and then back. "Believe me. When I was very young, my mother dragged me across most of the galaxy. Never in one place for more than a few months. Maybe a year, at most. I've lived on ships, and on planets, and if you ask me where I'm 'from'? This…" he nods at the ship, "…has probably the greatest claim to being my homeland. But when you find the people you want to be _with_ , the things you want to fight **for** , then you know you're home, Rey." 

Rey's breath catches, eyes flicking – just for the tiniest second – over to Finn again, before returning to Kylo. A shuddery little moment, the emotion welling within her, and then she nods. "But… what if they come back for me, and I'm gone? What if…"

"…What if they're never coming back?" Poe interjects, very softly. Not meaning to sound unkind in the slightest. "What if… you spend your whole life waiting for something you never find?"

"They might still come back," Rey insists, her voice shaking. "They…"

She turns away for a moment, as if not wanting them to see her face.

Kylo is not used to being comforting. He hasn't been in the longest time, with anyone but Poe. (And possibly, briefly, slightly, his mother.) Still. Finn – he knows – will never have known his family. Poe did, but only death parted them.

He… he lost his. Of his own accord, true. But he did, and he knows what it's like to be without them, and to want not to be. So he catches her elbow in one hand, just gently. 

"They can still come back, if they are still alive. You don't have to be on Jakku to find them. Even though the galaxy is huge, things happen. I find Poe again, on a planet lightyears away from where we first met. I found my mother on a planet we'd never been to together. And even if they aren't alive any more… they will be with you in the Force." 

"And if nothing else, sounds like you got plenty of people ready to be your family, too," Finn adds, just as gently. "I mean. You know. Friends." 

Rey's eyes close for a moment, tears glittering behind her lashes. She takes this in, seeming numbed by it, somehow, and then… she nods again, looking back. "Maybe you're right," she says. Not convinced, but… also not unconvinced. Somewhere in the middle. "I guess… it doesn't matter now. If what you're saying is true, I can't go back to Jakku. Not anytime soon, at least."

"If your parents _do_ go looking for you," Kylo says, pulling his hand back, "…they'll find out who was asking after you. And if they've any sense, they'll know how to make contact with the Resistance." Probably. 

The young woman still looks numb. Accepting, on some level, yes, but numb. Poe supposes this is understandable, given that her whole world has been broken in half in the course of a single day.

"And if they don't… if they don't come back – I'm not saying that will happen – but…" Poe tries to meet her eyes. "…You'll be safe with us. As much as anyone in this galaxy ever is, you will be."

Rey looks at him. "Thank you," she says, softly. Aware, if nothing else, of the danger she was in right before they came for her.

"Poe… can you do the pre-landing checks?" Kylo asks, as discreetly as he can. "Perhaps Finn can help you?"

"With landing checks?" Finn sounds confused.

"It needs two people," Kylo lies. 

"…all right. But you're gonna have to walk me through it, Poe. I'm no pilot." 

Poe isn't quite certain why Kylo wants them out of the room, but he's confident the other man does, and that there will be a good reason somewhere in his h– …ah. It could be…

…Yes.

"Sure thing," he says, brightly. Disarmingly. "Come along, Finn. I'll show you. It's easy. And… this is the _Millennium Falcon_. You're going to want to say you've sat in the cockpit, trust me."

And he rises to his feet, heading back down to said cockpit, giving Finn a clap on the shoulder as they go. BB-8 hesitates a moment, and then follows, looking back at Kylo and Rey as it trundles out of sight.

And… then the two of them are alone. Rey turns to stare right at Kylo, obviously aware that something is happening, despite not knowing what it is yet.

"…What's going on?" she asks, carefully.

"What I need to show you, you might not want others to witness," he says, when he's sure they can't hear. "And you have to agree to it, before I do it. It is unpleasant, but if you want to survive… I need to show you. I need to show you… what Snoke can do to you, so you can begin to work on stopping him." 

Rey takes a step backwards, clearly on instinct, though her eyes stay locked with Kylo's. "What do you mean?" she asks, carefully. Full of concern, of apprehension, yes, but… needing to know, all the same.

"He can manipulate your thoughts. He can climb inside of your mind. He can tell you things, show you things. Some of them will be true, and some of them will be lies. He… will try to break you. Try to make you doubt which direction 'up' is. Try to convince you that his way is the only way… and he will use any weakness, any pain, any… fear… for his own gain." It isn't easy, even saying this. "I know, because he did it to me." 

This provokes more than a slight flash of horror in the young woman's eyes. For a moment, she looks ready to back off further… and then, instead, she takes a step forwards again. "How do I fight it?" she asks.

_I wish I damn well knew_ , would be the entirely honest answer. "We'll have to work on that. I know… some basics… You have to have a clear sense of what you believe. If he's trying to make you doubt one fact, you have to find a way to anchor it in yourself. To… find something strong and bright enough inside you to resist. Maybe you can find a good memory, or… or… a hope. Or peace. Whatever you can, to make yourself strong." 

"Can you..?" A pause. Maybe Rey is afraid to ask. Maybe… it's not so much that she's afraid to ask as that she understands the weight of the request. "…Can you show me?"

He nods. "I will start slow. Nothing drastic. But I'll try to force you to move, and do things against your will. You need to push back against me as hard as you can."

And then his focus sharpens, his hand rising. A sudden thrum of pressure, the air heavy with intent as he presses against her consciousness, pushes up and _in_ through the first layers. A whisper, a voice, a need to pick up his sabre once more. 

Shock crosses Rey's face all at once: shock and alarm and a very obvious spike of fear. She's thrown by it, caught in the emotion, and the hand still holding Kylo's sabre hilt starts to rise, slowly but…

…And then it stops. Her eyes widen, and it's clear she's trying to resist. Trying to focus. Trying to…

_…flickers in her mind: a bright, sparkling blue ocean, beneath a golden sun. A whole archipelago of islands, leading out to one, to the largest, to…_

"Turn it on," he says, and his voice is ringing with the command, with the weight of it. He visualises her thumb sliding to the ignition, the feel of it as it hits that biting point just before it snicks over the edge. The sound of the blade flaring into life, the way it vibrates just slightly in your hand… "Turn on. My sabre." 

"…No…" is her retort, rough with the effort she's having to put in to keep her hand still. To stop herself. " _No_. I won't. I…"

Her hand shakes, her thumb moving ever-so-slightly, but… " _No_." Firmer, this time. A little more controlled, a little more sure.

Which is when he slams in the image of it already turned on, makes her doubt her sanity. Makes the image of it _already glowing_ blaze through her mind. "You already did, Rey." 

She blinks, like half of her mind is telling her one thing, and half another. Because it is. "No… it isn't true… you're…" She closes her eyes, just for a moment, some strange wave of control passing over her. "… _you're lying to me_. I see it… I _know_ …"

Kylo wishes he'd had her strength. She's had no training, and she can resist him. Even his Knights were all less skilled than her, when he took them under his command. Envy flares in him, for a moment, envy and annoyance, and he uses that to bear into her harder. " _You know they never meant to come back_." 

" _You don't know that!_ " The words slip from Rey's lips all at once, not just firm but hinted with _anger_ , and there's a flicker of something dark in her eyes as she opens them to stare back at Kylo.

"If they were coming back, they would have. They don't want you," Kylo snaps, eyes flashing with his own emotional charge. "They left because you weren't good enough. Because you weren't loved."

The words are not true, and come from no place of reality that Kylo knows. He's lashing out with what he knows will hurt, making her see how _painful_ it can be. And then – hot on the heels of his words – he remembers his own despair at being _not good enough_ and flares it all against her, presses remembered grief, self-hatred and frustrated yearning into her, urging her emotional response still higher. 

The sabre in Rey's hands flicks upwards, igniting with a sudden burst of red light. Maybe it's because Kylo told her to do it, but… more likely, it's because – right now – part of her _wants_ to do it. That darkness in her eyes seems to intensify, hinted with the red glow from the sabre, as it hums in her grip.

" _You can't know that_. You don't know them. _You don't know **me**_."

"Don't I?" he taunts, and there's the cruelty in his tone. "A few words, and you're ready to kill me, aren't you? A part of you is. A part of you wants me gone. Wants me gone, because even though I'm a mass-murderer, my family wants me _back_. And you – you who have done nothing but **wait** – you who have never veered from the Light – you are _alone_."

Kylo can feel the pull to be cruel in his gut. It's all he's known for over a decade. His control over others has always been like this, has been beaten into a weapon of destruction by a man who knows agony like no other. And it does feel good, on some level. To urge such a strong reaction out from another being, to… watch them fall apart under just your words, your voice, your mind. It feels good to make others hurt, when you hurt yourself. It would be so easy to break her, he thinks. So easy to warp her. To make her need for belonging, her desperate emptiness into a weapon. To sna--

No. No. **No**. He has to wrestle himself back under control, has to remember it isn't all about _pain_. Has to remember he can be who he is without resorting to such simple, vicious tricks. He keeps up the negative feelings as much as he can, but then… "Fight me, Rey." Quietly, without the pressure of the Force behind it. "Use something good. Use something _kind_. You can only fight it, if you can think of something brighter." 

For a second, it seems as though that invitation to _fight_ translates more literally in Rey's mind. She takes a step forward, baring the sabre, eyes fixed on Kylo like she's actually considering… considering…

_…that flash of memory, deep in the Force again: blue waves, green islands; calling to her as if from some great distance, a place of safety and hope and…_

_…a flicker of green light: **sabre** -light, not in the real world but still deep in her head, and a sense of tranquillity, of control, of…_

_… **belonging** … not behind, but ahead…_

Rey lowers the sabre, holding it out to the side and down. Still lit, for the moment, but no longer poised to attack.

Kylo watches with no small ache of his own. If only he'd been able to fight back the years of the voice in his skull. If only the love and security of his family had been enough for him to resist, to keep his faith, to keep himself from _falling_. Envy, but also… compassion. He might not be able to save young Ben Organa-Solo, not now, but he can help _her_. Can use his own mistakes to prevent a second tragedy, or a third, or any number of other small children crushed under the will of a Dark Master of the Force. 

"Keep that up," he says, and his voice is the very picture of ambivalence. And not a middle-of-the-road ambivalence, but the perfect storm between pride and approval, and pain and jealousy. "I'm going to push harder. Are you ready?" 

" _Yes_ ," she declares, not aggressive, now, but still firm. Staring back at him, the sabre still gripped tightly at her side, red light flickering as she takes another step forward. "I'm ready. Do it."

His hand lifts again, and this time he throws it all at her. He throws that day, when Luke was gone, when young Ben Solo died. He doesn't build up to it, he goes from nothing to a memory rarely-seen, rarely-met, rarely-incorporated.

_People he has known for years. Masters he has trained under. Children he has played with. The sounds they make when they breathe in meditative silence, the way the Sullustian girl is always just a bit late, the way the two twins bounce balls of Light back and forth and…_

_The feel of a sabre in his hand. Thrumming with life, promising death. The way heads turn (the trail of a Twi'lek's tail catching on a shoulder, the question on another's lips) as they sense the Dark in him rising up._

_The voice in his head. The one that won't go away. The one that tells him to do things. That tells him he's special. That tells him he's broken. That tells him to never speak of the things he is shown. That tells him to give in. That promises him love and glory and power. That batters down on his very soul until the agony is so much that Ben just wants it to **stop** and maybe if they all die it will **stop** and the feeling when the sabre goes through a gut and the hilt rams up against the torso and the screaming that is almost too loud to process and the death after death after death after…_

There's a terrible, terrible pause, and then the sabre in Rey's hand sputters out to nothing, still gripped so tightly that her whole arm is shaking a little.

" _Stop_ ," she says, half-demand, half-plea. "Whatever this is… just… just…"

The sabre springs back up, ignited, flaring, blazing, filling the air with ozone and threat. She swings it, draws it back, the whole room thrumming with the power flooding through it, such potential and possibility and…

_…a dark room; a **Dark** room, and yet somehow a room filled with Light… a room through which three colours shine: green, blue, red…_

Rey thumbs the sabre off once more and drops it to the deckplates, staring at Kylo with her arms held out just a little, perhaps in acceptance, and perhaps… readiness.

Kylo doesn't want to continue with that image. It hurts to do it. It hurts to bring up such a sin, and a thing he's known all along was wrong (even if he couldn't fight it off, or so he tells himself, when he thinks about it too long). He's more than happy to stop, to let the power of the memory fade. 

But he staggers, hand falling almost all the way down, and his expression is… haunted when he stops. "You needed to know," he says. Broken. Hurt. Fighting to get himself back into place, back into one piece. "You needed to know what he can make you do. What the Dark can make you do. What it is you're facing." 

He doesn't want to scare her out of the fight, but he knows – knows intensely so – that she has to be aware of what it is they're up against. It's no good pretending this is anything but a fight for their very souls. He whips his hand up, recovering the sabre, and clicks it to his belt. Eyes averted, unable to meet her gaze. 

"He will try to do this to you. And we must not let him win. The longer he lives, the more he can corrupt. Can… _hurt_." 

It's a long, long moment before Rey starts to relax, and – even then – she still looks ready to jump at the slightest sound or sharp movement.

"Was that..?" She hesitates, obviously not sure if the question is one she should ask, and then pushes on, to the end of it. "…Was that a real memory?"

His eyes stay on the edge of the holotable, and he won't look up. "Yes. Yes. Mine. That is what I am afraid of. That is what I don't want to happen to you, Rey." 

"You… you really..?" There's horror in her eyes, and alarm and a desire to back away, but at the same time… there's something else. A need to help. To make things right. Somehow. "…How did you find your way back from that?"

"I was fifteen." His tone is empty when he says it, and his eyes flicker back up. "I could lie and say I didn't know what I was doing was wrong, but I did. I knew. I knew, and I…" Wanted it, on some level. Hated it, on another. It's difficult for him to understand, because he's always been of two minds of most things in his life. "I killed the Jedi. Snoke instructed me to, but I still did it with my own two hands."

How do you find your way back? "Poe. Poe… and… the knowledge that what I did was wrong. But I knew it much earlier, and I had no… no idea how I could begin to atone for my sins, or even if I could escape Snoke's control over me. But that damn pilot believed in me, when even I didn't. And he… he… showed me how to temper my Dark, my violence… to balance it with love. With Light." 

Kylo stands a little taller, getting control back over himself. "I don't deny anything I did. I won't. I did those things, Rey. And I would have done worse, too. But I… can try to stop it happening again. The Jedi's way is wrong. It doesn't work… not for everyone. But neither is Snoke's vision the future. We need… we need to find some way to balance it all out. That's what Anakin Skywalker was supposed to do, and that's what you and I need to finish. Together." 

Rey listens to all of this, doing her best to take it in. It can't be easy to hear – none of this is easy – but she doesn't waver. "Why me?" she asks. Not for the first time, but different now. "I understand why you have to do this. You're Anakin Skywalker's heir. But… why me? Why not another hidden Force-sensitive person? There must be more of us. I can't… can't be the only one. So… why?"

"I don't know," he admits. "The Force knows. Perhaps your parents know. Even Anakin… he had no father, you know. He was a baby born of a mother, with no father. The Force is strong in you, for whatever reason. And you… you need to be the Light to temper the Dark, Rey. You know, don't you? You always have known." 

For a moment, she doesn't respond, and then – softly, slightly – she nods. "Yes. I don't know how. I don't think I've ever been aware of it before. But… I still _knew_."

He nods, understanding that in a way most couldn't. "You're called to it. The galaxy needs you. It is… not an easy thing, to be so important to so many. Believe me… I felt crushed by my family's accomplishments not long after I learned to walk… but when the call comes, you know… you know you must answer." 

"…And what must I do?" she asks. Not hostile, oh no. Just needing to know. "We… you and I… we have to go up against this man, Snoke, don't we? The man who…" did those things to you. Though this part, it seems, she can't quite say. "…We have to face him."

A nod. "Yes. We need to. His corruption spreads. He – his Order – built a weapon that would destroy whole inhabited systems in one fell swoop. It is gone, but he… needs to be stopped, in order for peace to prevail." A pause. "With your help, we need to convince Luke Skywalker to return. To return, and complete your training. And then we will face him as one."

"Can it be done?" she asks, softly. Maybe she isn't sure it can. Or maybe… maybe it's not herself she's trying to convince. "Can the three of us ever hope to triumph in this?"

"Luke Skywalker is a Jedi Master. He… defeated the Emperor. He… saved Darth Vader. I… am a Sith Lord, and you are strong enough to resist me when no one else ever has," Kylo says, and then smiles, just a little. "If we can't do it between us, then there is no one else who could." 

And despite it all, Rey smiles too. Perhaps that was exactly what she wanted to hear. "Then we must try. Or… no. We must _do_. If we can really find Luke Skywalker, you and I… then maybe we can do this."

Before Kylo has a chance to reply, however, there's a shout from the cockpit. "We're coming up on D'Qar," Poe calls out. "Get ready for the drop to sublight."

Rey's eyes go to Kylo again, suddenly full of excitement. "I want to see this," she says, and she hurries off at once, down to the cockpit, where Poe is preparing to disengage the hyperdrive.

Kylo watches her go, and holds back for a few moments. They're all going to be so happy, up in the cockpit, and he's still… a little fragile. He looks down at the bag, where his mask is slumbering, waiting for him. 

" _I'm okay_ ," he tells Poe. " _I just need a minute. I'll meet you at the loading ramp when we land_." He isn't upset, per se. Just a little… overwhelmed with this all.

It really is happening. Isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Davechicken here. You know, the weirdo who replies two minutes after you comment. Normally the division of labour is such that Shadow_Side is the archivist and summariser, and I’m the PR person. Which is because 1. I write faster (I have no filter), 2. I am impulsive and hot-headed (see 1), and 3. My lovely other half is shy. Yep. The brash pilot is shy. ;) Also I am not letting her see this before I add it, so if the updates stop in... a week’s time? She murdered me. Nice knowing y’all.
> 
> I’m the more vocal of us, too. So I’ll try to keep this as brief as I can, as I’m prone to turning ‘hey you know, why don’t we do a thing with Kylo and Poe’ into... uhm... over a quarter of a million words and counting. OOPS. SORRY NOT SORRY.
> 
> I want to take this opportunity to say something. I want to say this: **THANK YOU**. I want to say thank you for reading this. Writing is usually a solitary pursuit, even when you and your fiancée are sitting in the same room yelling at one another when you did something painful. (See above: SORRY NOT SORRY.) But here... it’s not so solitary. There’s a whole HEAP of you. And it’s actually terrifying us in a good way, because we normally just write weird shit and eat pizza. But people are looking at our weird shit, now. And it’s – weird. (I’m also the eloquent one.)
> 
> **Thank you** to everyone who made the hit counter go up. **Thank you** to everyone who left a little heart. **THANK YOU** to anyone who has ever said a single word to us. Really. Those emails are so important. I love them. And because I love them I freak out a bit at times, and get weirdly involved. (...discussing the ethics of warfare, consent, good, evil, the Jewish Diaspora (that’s another fic)...) I’m the emotionally volatile one, and I sometimes get a bit vocal, and I’m sorry. I’m never, ever going to police what people say to us (short of if you tell lies or flame or abuse us, but no one’s ever done that fingers crossed touch wood look now you jinxed it). Please continue to have opinions. Even ones that differ from me. I’ve been a bit acerbic with a couple of you, and I’m sorry. My inner ‘fuck fuck fuck I am not good enough for all these people watching me’ kicks in and makes me convinced I’m the worst writer in the world. But still. Have opinions. Feel free to debate with me, and convince me I’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Or tell me you had a bad day and want a cookie. I’m here for both. (You still only get an update every second day except for special, painful occasions, though!)
> 
> But thank you. I mean it. I really am glad you’re all here, though I’m convinced you’re insane, because I wish I was five times the author I actually am. And Shadow_Side is even more convinced we’re going to suddenly post a chapter that just says HODOR in different styles. (No, we’re not. Nor will it say CHICKEN over and over.) We love you. Even if we’re absolutely petrified we’ll disappoint you. We’re super glad you’re here, and we’re probably more afraid of you than you’ll ever be of us :)


	29. Broken Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go, people. Starting today, we're doing a three-part updateathon, as we take you through the darkest arc of this story of ours.
> 
> Hugs and liquor at the ready...

With their ground clearance granted by a rather stunned operator in the Resistance base, Poe brings the _Millennium Falcon_ in to land. He'd be having a lot of fun with it, were he not now worried about Kylo, about the fact that the other man hasn't come in here to join them.

About the flickers of things he could feel down their bond, when Kylo and Rey were alone.

It worries him. It _hurts_ him. But… he can't dwell on it now. This is his third return to D'Qar in the last week, and – once again – he's come back in a ship other than the one he left in.

At least this time it's the _Millennium Falcon_. Surely you get points for that?

Rey stands between the two cockpit chairs, a perhaps-unknowing hand on Finn's shoulder, staring out the front window as the planet below resolves into trees, plains, rivers, vibrant in the sunlight.

"…It's so green…" she murmurs, and Poe feels a little pang of pain at the thought of someone living a whole life kept away from sights like this. He can only imagine how miraculous it must all look to her, right now.

Ground control clears them a large landing pad at the far end of the central concourse, and Poe puts the _Falcon_ down there, going to low power and switching the systems onto standby.

"This is it," he says, softly. "Rey, Finn… Welcome to D'Qar."

And, as soon as he can, he rises from his seat and heads out, with their young passengers in tow. Desperately needing to see Kylo; now, please.

Kylo is waiting for them, when they come to disembark. The ramp is lowered ready, but he's not descended. The satchel with the helmet in slung over one shoulder, he seems… quiet, but not overly so.

"You are going to need to explain why we're flying my father's ship to my mother," he tells Poe, when they get close enough. "I suspect she will forgive you this."

Finn, for his sake, reaches for Rey's hand. Just a little squeeze, and then he lets go. The small exchange they share says more than words could, and then he starts to walk down towards the outside world.

Where… there's already a small crowd gathered. Whispering in surprise. 

Just before they head out after them, Poe does exactly the same to Kylo, grasping his hand for a moment. "I love you," he murmurs. Needing to say so much more, but… now is not the time.

And… down they go.

The crowd outside is getting larger, as people come running from across the base. They all seem to understand what ship they're looking at – and it's clearly causing a great amount of emotional response – and some, too, are looking at Rey and Finn. They don't know a lot, yet, but Poe is confident that news of their mission will have gotten out.

It isn't long before the crowd is parting to let Leia Organa through. There's such a complicated expression on her face as she stares up at the ship – at _that_ ship – and perhaps she's looking for someone who isn't here. Two someones. But… one in particular.

How could she not be?

Instead… she sees Rey, and Finn, and she smiles, before turning to her son, and his pilot, expression suddenly a little more serious. Or… trying to be, at least. "…Commander Dameron, where is my shuttle?"

_Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush…_

"…Your shuttle is still on Jakku. Surrounded by First Order troops. We… had to borrow a different ship in order to escape. Somewhat fortuitously…"

And he headtilts up at the _Millennium Falcon_. Sometimes things don't need to be said out loud.

"In his defence, it really was impossible to rescue that ship, too," Kylo tells his mother. "We barely made it off the planet alive." 

And then the Dark Lord of the Sith realises he hasn't introduced people. "Rey, Finn, please meet General Leia Organa of the Resistance." It feels very odd to him to introduce her, especially as that. "Rey is the one the Force sent me to find. Finn… he's the Stormtrooper who broke Poe out the first time."

"General Organa, ma'am," Finn says, jumping to attention immediately. 

"At ease, at ease," she insists at once. "We're delighted to have you with us at last. I can't tell you what it means that you came here. Both of you. I realise all of this will be a lot for you to take in, and I want to help in any way I can."

Rey seems unable to take her eyes off Leia, as if there's some pull between them. The meeting of two Force-sensitives, perhaps, or an awareness of who the older woman is and what her impact on the galaxy has been. "…You know what we have to do?"

Leia nods. "I know what you have to do. To start out with… it's the same thing I have been trying to do for far too long. To find Luke Skywalker. To bring my brother home."

"Rey is also hoping you can help her. She… is looking for her family," Kylo points out, as diplomatically as he can. "If anyone has the links to do it, I know it's you, mother."

Leia nods again. Expression absolutely level. "I see. In that case… Rey, perhaps you and I should speak in private. So… you can tell me what you know of them."

This obviously takes Rey by surprise, and her eyes flick to Kylo, to Finn, before she nods. "All right. Yes. That would be good."

"Good," Leia echoes, and looks to her son. "Take some time to rest after your trip. We'll talk more then. Discuss… the next steps."

And Leia gives them a nod, before heading off, Rey going with her. The crowd starts to disperse at this point – though people are obviously still admiring the _Falcon_ from afar – leaving Finn alone with Kylo and Poe.

" _What do we do with the Stormtrooper_?" Kylo asks, down their bond, keeping his expression level.

"So… this is D'Qar?" Finn asks, clearly out of his element. 

" _That's a good question_ ," Poe thinks back – without answering it – and immediately turns to the man standing nearby.

He does owe Finn something of a debt, for breaking him out when he did. If he hadn't… it's hard to say how this might have gone. Maybe the First Order would still have found BB-8 on Jakku, and it would have played out the same. Or… maybe it could have gone very differently. Very… darkly…

…OK, don't think that…

"This is D'Qar," he says, brightly. Like a man who is not thinking anything he shouldn't be, and certainly isn't able to have bizarre mental conversations with his Sith Lord boyfriend without anyone else knowing. "Bit of a step-up from Jakku. And, aside from us, it's uninhabited, so it's a good place to hide out."

"So… no… First Order?" Finn asks, eyes sliding back to them.

"Other than this defector," Kylo answers him, "…no. I'd offer to give you the tour, but I was only here for one night myself." And I spent most of that in Poe. Who you don't get a tour of. Because he's mine.

"Hey, I'm fine. Just show me a place I can lie down at night, and a shower, and where to grab food, and…" then the younger man's eyes widen. "Wait. I don't have any money."

"You don't need any," Kylo reassures him. "As you… well. We didn't ask, but we assumed you'd be joining the fight?"

Finn glances between them. "…you… really think you got a chance of winning?"

"Even if we didn't, we'd keep fighting to the end," Poe says, without a hint of melancholy. "And yeah. We really think we've got a chance of winning. More so than ever, now."

He smiles over at Kylo, his 'more so than ever' right there.

And then, looking back at Finn, Poe headtilts. "So, come on, I'm dying to know what happened after the crash. I was gone, and… you said something happened to the wreck of the TIE?"

Finn seems satisfied enough with that as an answer. "Yeah. I got there, and I couldn't find you, just your jacket, and the sands swallowed the ship up. Then I was alone, and I had no clue where I was. I… wandered through the dunes 'til I came to Niima. It was pretty rough, and I didn't speak half the languages, and I couldn't find a job. Then… then I met Rey."

Poe grins. "Love at first sight? Or did she hit you with that quarterstaff of hers?"

"…well, I tried to stop some guys from hurting her, and she knocked them both out and then had me on the floor before she realised I was trying to help," the man answers.

"So both, then," Kylo snorts.

Finn goes a little brighter. "…she's… she's a really good friend, okay. And really nice. She looked after me, when she didn't need to." 

This makes Poe stare at him in surprise. Surely… surely the man can see how Rey looks at him, when they're together? Poe has never even _been_ with a woman, and _he_ can tell.

"…So the two of you aren't..?"

"…aren't?"

"…please tell me Stormtroopers aren't as repressed as Knights of Ren," Kylo mutters.

"…what?"

Kylo throws Poe a Look. 

…Stormtrooper. Trained from birth. Right. How, exactly, does Poe keep having to deal with people with no sexual experience whatsoever?

And how do you do this when you're _not_ in the process of giving the other person a few very graphic lessons on what they've been missing?

"…You and Rey. You're not a couple?"

"We… you mean… uhm… boyfriend?"

Kylo thinks Poe means more than 'boyfriend'. 

"We've only known one another for, like, two weeks!"

Which is when Poe blushes. Rather a lot. "So have Kylo and me," he points out. "Sometimes… these things just happen and they're right, and…"

Pause. Breathe. Possibly not everyone does it _this_ fast.

"…and the way you are with each other, it seemed… like maybe you were. Are. Together."

Finn blinks. "You… think she likes me?"

Kylo rolls his eyes very loudly. "She likes you."

"Really?" He looks excitedly to Poe, clearly thinking the other man's judgement important. 

"Of course," Poe tells him. Meaning it. Slightly concerned that the younger man hasn't worked this out himself. "Finn… if you feel the same, you should tell her."

Partly because the galaxy is a dangerous place, and infinitely more so now considering what's just happened, and what they're planning. But also partly because things are much more fun once you do.

"…h-how?"

Kylo is trying so hard not to laugh. "…you could… ask her… for… dinner?" 

"But… don't you guys all eat in the same place anyway?"

"Holo?" Kylo has no idea. "Poe… how do people date?" 

Poe looks suddenly like he wants to bash his head into the nearest hard, flat surface. Possibly the side of the latest ship he appropriated without permission.

"…You go for dinner together. Even if there's other people around, you… sit, just the two of you. And… you spend time together when you're off-duty. You talk about things you like. You… wander through the forest at twilight, and look at the stars, and… tell each other things."

And then, after a number of years of trying this – interspersed with the sex part because you actually know how that works – you realise it's all wrong and instead give yourself heart and soul to a soon-to-be-Sith Lord on a remote, hostile planet without so much as a backward glance.

Possibly Poe should not say this part out loud. Especially given the difficulties Finn is having with the more normal elements of the process.

" _Or you drop to your knees in the trees and offer your body, heart and soul to be fucked out of you, and put lovingly back in, by a man you just tried to kill_ ," Kylo thinks to him. " _But I am also interested in your date ideas. If I get to fuck you senseless before, sometimes during, and definitely after_."

"Okay." Finn nods. "Okay. I… I got this. I can do this. I… wait. What if she says no? Will she – will we still be friends?"

" _Maker have mercy on us_ ," Kylo adds. 

It is hard to keep your face level when your boyfriend is saying things like _that_ in your mind. Very hard. Poe tries, but it's probably a good job that Finn is distracted, or it might be obvious something is going on.

"She likes you, Finn," Poe says, going for broke. "And… even if she _doesn't_ want it to be anything more, she clearly cares about you enough to want you around. So I don't think you have anything to worry about where your friendship is concerned."

And _then_ he starts wondering if Rey will – eventually – be able to do some of the things Kylo can do. And, if Rey and Finn do get together, will Poe have to have this conversation with the man _again_ , but with the currently unspoken parts no longer left out?

Because this is hard enough as it is.

"Okay. Okay." Finn nods. A deep breath. "You got this…"

"…are you… giving yourself a pep-talk?" Kylo asks.

"Yeah. I mean. Sometimes you gotta." Finn looks sheepish.

Kylo bites the inside of his cheek, and then pats Finn sort of mechanically on the arm. "You will do a great job. And she… ah… she would be a fool to turn you down."

Finn clearly looks confused why Kylo Ren is saying this to him. "…t-thanks."

"You're welcome." A little smile. " _When do we get to 'date'?_ " 

" _Tonight, if you'd do me the honour_ ," Poe thinks in reply, with a smile that he hopes Finn won't notice. " _So long as it still ends with me on my knees…_ "

He's about to elaborate on this image a little further when he realises that Snap Wexley is running down towards them, with a grave expression on his face.

"You gotta come quick, Dameron," Snap says, as he reaches them. "You too, Kylo. Intel just came in… one of our spies deep within the First Order. On the _Finalizer_."

"What is it?" Poe asks at once. Instantly alarmed. It takes a lot to rile Snap up like this.

"It's Supreme Leader Snoke," Snap replies. "We think we know where he is."

Kylo's hand goes to his lightsabre purely on instinct, his eyes flaring with fury, fear, and… something else. "Where?" He needs to know. Needs to _know_. 

Poe puts a hand on Kylo's arm, trying to calm him down. Trying to reassure him. It isn't easy, given the way he himself suddenly feels cold as ice. "Not here," he says. "We have to do this properly."

Snap nods in agreement. "Command Team's gathering in the central bunker," he says. "Ackbar's already there and Statura's on his way. Jess has gone to find General Organa."

I'm going to kill him, Kylo thinks. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to… the hand on his arm is somewhat grounding, but it's hard to stay in the moment, and not give in to the **rage** inside. He looks dangerous. He _is_ dangerous.

"…should… should I just… stay here?" Finn asks, worried. He has no idea where 'here' is, in relation to everywhere else. 

"Come with us," Poe urges. "You might be able to help."

And then, without thought for the fact that they've got an audience, he turns to face Kylo, putting a hand on his chest. "This is what we've been waiting for," he says. "We can do this."

_I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him_. Kylo doesn't even know if he's radiating it across their bond or not. Right now, though, the whole base can probably feel his projected anger. He nods at Poe, and his eyes look… hungry. 

"Show me where to go." 

***

The central bunker is a flurry of activity when they arrive, people moving this way and that, conversing in low, anxious tones. A group starts forming around the central holotable: the Resistance's main Command Team, leaving gaps for those who haven't arrived yet.

Poe and Snap both take their places in the circle, Poe tugging Kylo in next to him and waving for Finn to stay close. Admiral Statura is opposite them, expression grave, and currently deep in conversation with Major Ematt, and Admiral Ackbar paces up moments later, loading something into the holotable but not – yet – activating it.

After a moment, General Organa comes pacing in from that side-room of hers, with Rey and Jess Pava following on behind. Leia takes her place at the table, whilst Jess goes to stand near Snap. Rey – with an odd look in her eyes – goes immediately to stand next to Finn, glancing sideways at him but not saying anything.

The room goes silent.

It's Statura who speaks first. "A very short time ago, we received intel from one of our spies embedded deep within the First Order, aboard the _Finalizer_. This spy – codenamed Copperwing – has recently come into possession of that ship's planned movements over the next few days. Movements that include a rendezvous with a second Star Destroyer identified as the _Decimator_. We believe – with a very high degree of certainty – that this ship is the base of operations used by Supreme Leader Snoke. Which means… we know precisely where he's going to be, and when."

"So when? Where? How?" Kylo reels the questions off atonally, as if at a great remove. 

"We need to come up with a plan," Ematt insists. "We need to calculate the variables, crunch the numbers…"

"Waste precious time." Kylo's hand is still fisted. "This is the first time I have ever known where – or when – he will be. I need to take the opportunity."

Ackbar clears his throat. "But it's most suredly--"

"Yes, we all know it's a _trap_." The Sith sighs, heavily. "It's the point. But it's also a chance. And it's the first chance we've ever had." 

"Yes, it is," Leia agrees. "But we mustn't lose sight of the risks this poses to all of us." To you. She looks up at Statura. "How good is the intel? _Really?_ "

"As close to watertight as it comes," the Admiral answers. "It's taken us months to get Copperwing embedded this deep. As much as it is possible to be sure… we are."

He nods at Admiral Ackbar – who still looks agitated about the whole trap-part – and the Mon Calamari reaches to activate the holotable, sending an image flickering into being. A map, of several sectors of the Outer Rim, with various stars and planets marked, and one system highlighted in red.

"This is Altraz, in the Valdorn system," Ackbar starts out. "The intel states that the _Decimator_ has been in orbit of the planet – an uninhabited world – for some time. The _Finalizer_ is due to rendezvous with them in two days. So, until at least that point, we are confident that Snoke will be there."

"Then I need to get on a ship headed that way," Kylo blurts out. "He might have let us know where he is going to be for a reason, but we don't let him win."

"But if it's a trap why would you walk into it?" Finn asks, before realising he just jumped into the Resistance's main command structure, somehow.

"It's a risk, but a calculated one. He needs to die. Who knows when we will next get his location." Kylo is ready to slice through the holotable.

"…won't we get the intel when you don't go kill him? And he wants you to try again?" Ematt looks troubled.

Kylo moves closer, all but in the other's face. "The Force brought me to Rey. It wants me to kill him."

"Kylo," Poe says, putting a hand on his lover's arm again. "Kylo… let us work this through. Please." He isn't being disloyal, not in the slightest. He's just trying to prevent any more overreaction. Trying to stop this spiralling out of their control.

"I agree that we should make a move," Statura cuts in, with a diplomatic edge to his tone. "Even though this intel may have been leaked deliberately. Copperwing is currently dark – through necessity or lack of choice, I don't yet know – and we have nothing else to inform us either way. But I think to miss this window of opportunity would be a grave error."

"Whatever we do, we must do it carefully," Leia insists. "We must anticipate what Snoke intends by letting this intel leak, and we must react accordingly."

"What he intends is to throw down the gauntlet!" The Sith doesn't shake Poe off, but the irritation and rage in his tone says he wants to. At least a little. "He sends his messages out through his cronies, for us to pick up on. He's taunting us."

"And you are allowing it to happen," Ematt's tone is unfeeling.

"I can **kill him** , once and for all! He knows it's a trap. I know it's a trap. We each know the other knows it's a trap. And it's still going to be the best chance we ever get at him. I _worked_ for him. I **know** this. We're going to be ten steps behind, no matter when we go up against him!"

"No," Leia says, softly, looking straight at her son. "We're ten steps behind now. But… that is about to change. We have you. We have Rey. Given time, and training, both of you can be prepared for this inevitable fight against Snoke. And, if we can find Luke…"

"…We can't keep hanging all our hopes on that map, General," Statura interjects. It sounds like this is a discussion they've had before. "I know what it means to you, and I know what finding Master Skywalker would mean to the Resistance. But… we haven't, not yet. And in the meantime…"

"…In the meantime, the most dangerous man since Emperor Palpatine just waved a flag and invited us to come get him," Snap cuts in. "So why don't we do just that?"

"Because it's a _trap_ ," Ackbar says, like a man sick of repeating himself.

"It's always going to _be_ a trap." The Sith turns on his heel, to face the Mon Calamari Admiral. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. We won't ever be ahead of the game. The longer we give him, the more resources he'll scramble together. And do you think he'll give up, just because we have Rey? No. He'll sharpen my Knights into a more brutal force. He'll search out every last damned Force-sensitive in the galaxy and he will _torture them_ until I find him, and I take him **out**."

"Why?" asks Finn. "Why… now?"

"What?"

"Why would he torture them now?"

"Because he thinks I'm about to stage a revolution with either a Sith Apprentice, or a Jedi Order, and he'll break every last child he can find because he knows it will _hurt me_ and punish me for leaving him!" Kylo snaps back. He isn't sure how he knows it will happen, but now it's in his head, he's sure. He's so sure. Snoke will reach his hands out into others' minds. Weave his way into their skulls, their dreams, their nightmares. "I'm not going to let him do that to anyone, ever again!" 

" _Kylo_ ," Poe says, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Take a breath. We have to do this properly. If we act without thinking, it could lead to disaster. It could get you killed. Get Rey killed. The two of you are our only hope."

"I'm not ready to do this," Rey cuts in, the first time she's spoken since the meeting began. "Kylo… you said we were supposed to do it together. You said we'd bring Balance. But… right now… I'm not ready. A few hours ago, I was still living quietly on Jakku with no idea of any of this."

"Then we do it the old-fashioned way," Snap insists. "We take the fleet to Altraz and we blow the Force-damned hell out of that Star Destroyer. If we could take out the Starkiller, we can do this."

"No! I have to kill him!" Kylo isn't aware how irrational he's being, how emotional and impulsive. Even Poe's calming influence is barely scratching the surface right now. "I have to ram my sabre through his chest and watch the light go out of his eyes."

"Ren, is that…"

"DO. NOT. CALL. ME. BEN."

Kylo doesn't even know that the right name was used, turning on the surprised soldier with blood on his mind.

"I didn't-- I-- you… do go by Ren, don't you?"

"That is beside the point!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You bomb it all you want," Kylo says, turning to Snap. "But you do it when I'm inside. You fly me there, and I'll take him down with my own two hands if I have to. If none of you will face up to what has to be done, then _I_ will." 

"We are not bombing that ship if you're inside it," Leia replies. "I won't put you at risk like that. You and Rey are both too valuable to lose."

"They're also the only ones who can do this," Poe interjects, bitter realisation rising in his chest. "And… if Kylo is dead-set on doing it… "

He's going to do it whether or not you agree, are the unspoken words. But Poe doesn't quite dare say them out loud. He's torn between wanting to support Kylo, and wanting to avoid running headlong into something that is so clearly an attempt to draw him back in. And…

…he remembers what he saw, on Eigengrau. Remembers the echoes of Kylo's past. Remembers what Snoke did to him, and his own blood starts to burn at the thought.

"…it's better we help than let him do this alone."

" _Thank_ you," Kylo manages, and he's still so wound up that he looks like he might manage to make the room spontaneously combust just by breathing. "I don't care if no one else is with me. I'm going to do it. You don't know what he's capable of. None of you! You don't know what he will _do_ if we don't kill him **now**."

Echoes, echoes in his head. Possible futures, and children screaming. Children hurting. Bleeding. Murdering. Kylo nearly slams someone into something (and not in a fun way), and only Poe standing so close keeps him from pulling out his sabre in a show of his dedication.

"Perhaps we should… come up with possible… attack plans?" Ematt offers. "Run through scenarios. Plan some… air support and…" It's clear he's trying to get the situation to defuse, to put the angry Sith in their midst away from them all.

"You're all fools, if you think waiting does you any good," Kylo snaps, and turns on his heel to march straight out from the room. " _It would be wisest if you don't follow_ ," are the bitter, angry, hurting words left in his wake for only one person to hear. 

Everyone looks alarmed. Some more than others, but all of them more than enough. Leia closes her eyes for a moment, obviously hurt and worried, and when she looks up, her attention is straight on Poe.

"…Give me a chance to talk to him," the pilot says. "I can work this out."

He is not at all sure he can, but he has to try. Even with his lover's parting words still echoing in his head. He has to try.

Leia nods, and Poe leaves the holotable at once, hurrying off after Kylo. The other man is moving quickly, and he's already outside when Poe catches up.

"Kylo. Kylo, stop a minute."

"Poe, I'm not in a good mood right now," Kylo spits without turning to look at him, his long legs striding him out, out… away from people. Away from everything. The fury in his gut, the need for revenge, is so strong that everything feels bathed in a low, angry red. "Go talk ships with the other boys and girls and leave the Sith to Force things on his own." 

Even he knows it's a low blow. It's why he does it. 

But if he's trying to drive Poe off, he's going the wrong way about it. The pilot rounds on him all at once – moving quickly – trying to block his path. "Now you listen to me, you Force-damned maniac," he says, in the most serious tone he has. "I am your lover, your fiancé, your _apprentice_ , and if you think for one _second_ that I'm just going to let you storm off and get killed, then you've vastly misjudged me. So calm the fuck down for two seconds and _listen_."

A beat. "And do not _ever_ belittle my squadron again."

Some things are sacred. Even now.

"Why not? Or should I just belittle you? Who needed someone who couldn't even fly a damned ship to come rescue you, because you couldn't keep your nose up on a bombing run?" Kylo knows this is wrong, now. Knows the words aren't… wholly his own. Knows the bitter, angry feeling isn't actually directed at Poe, but it's finding the nearest place to ground his lightning. Knows…

…hands up to his head, into his hair, and he **pulls**. Pulls until his eyes water, and until he's bending over at the waist in agony. 

_GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT_. It's the voice again. Isn't it? The voice that slides around inside his mind. The one he's had almost every day since he can remember what words were. The voice that's been inside so long that half the time it sounds like his own, so he struggles to know which thoughts are his, and which are _his_. 

Kylo screams, and flares out, sending Poe a good three feet away from him with the Force, needing him at a distance in case he does something he regrets. _I'M NOT GIVING YOU THE LOCATION OF THIS BASE_. 

The push takes Poe by surprise – right as he's drawing breath for a _furious_ retort – and it's only as he hits the floor that he realises _all of this is wrong, so wrong_.

"Kylo," he calls out, urgently, scrambling to his feet – knowing how they must look to anyone watching – and moving straight back towards his lover, trying to grab him by the shoulders. "Kylo, he's in your head, listen to me, he's in your head. Look at me. Look at me. _Fight it_."

Kylo tries to push Poe off him, not wanting him close enough where he could hurt him. Not wanting him close enough where he could _take his sabre and turn it, turn it, switch it on and let the plasma arc up and through him, through his gut, the slowest place to die from. Watching, frozen, as Poe dies here, in front of him._ The image – the false-vision – so loud in Kylo's head that Poe must feel it too.

"I can't hurt you," he rasps out, trying to pull back, pull away. "I can't. Poe. Please. _Please_." Inside his mind, making his senses trip. No way of telling if a memory is real or tampered with. No way of knowing if the insidious whispers are true. A world gone black-and-white at the same time as all red. Kylo's hand fumbles at his belt, and he's shoving the sabre-hilt into Poe's hands, begging him to take the temptation away from him. "I can't, I can't, I can't. He's going to hurt me. He's going to kill you. He's going to do it over and over and I won't be able to stop him, Poe. I need to. I need to make it all **stop**." 

Poe's hand closes around the sabre-hilt, but he pushes it back towards Kylo. "Then we make it stop," he says. Not wanting to resort to this, not wanting to go down this road, but… knowing, somehow, that he has no other choice, now. That he's had no choice since the moment he first understood what Snoke did to Kylo. Since the moment that insidious little flicker of darkness… of _Dark_ ness… flared in his own mind.

He should not suggest this. Should not say this. Should not _do_ this. But…

"…If you're determined to go after Snoke, then I'm coming with you. And you will have to _kill_ me to stop me. Besides… you need a pilot. Even one who got shot down on the most important bombing run of his life." Still _very_ sore about that, both the event itself and being reminded of it. "I'm the best damn pilot you're going to find. And I'm the only one crazy enough to do something like this."

"I can't lose you," Kylo says, fingers just touching his lover's, just glancing around the phallic instrument of death they're now holding between them, turned sideways to keep the risk to a minimum. "I can't. Poe… he'll destroy you, to get to me. And I need you safe. I need you safe."

More than anything. He leans forwards, pushes his head against his pilot's. A shudder, all the way down his spine. "He'll make me hurt you, Poe. And I couldn't live with myself if I did." 

"I am not leaving you to do this alone," Poe replies, firmly. "So either you come back and be part of the plan the rest of the Resistance is putting together, or… we do this. You and me, right now. I have the co-ordinates for the Valdorn system. For this planet, Altraz. If you plan to take down Snoke, then I'm coming with you. And not just because you won't get there without me."

His heart is aching. This is insane. This is completely insane.

"…the… TIEs," Kylo says, in understanding. "One of those could sneak in, undetected. We could be in and out before even my mother knows we're gone…" 

Poe pushes in closer. "One of the Interceptors would be our best bet, yes. If we're trying to land aboard a Star Destroyer, we want to blend in."

He very much doubts they could _ever_ do this without being noticed. By Leia Organa, or by anyone else. Even if they come back alive, and successful, Poe is confident he isn't going to get out of this without a severe talking-to. Hopefully – if they _are_ successful – it will be enough to keep himself from getting kicked out of the starfighter corps altogether.

But none of that matters now.

Kylo opens hurting eyes, and looks at him. "You mean it, don't you?" he asks, voice hushed with wonder. Poe. Beautiful, strong, noble, good Poe. Prepared to risk it all in a last minute dash for Kylo's psychic freedom.

"I mean it," Poe whispers. And he does. Even though it is insane. "I told you, I love you. _Love_ you. I told you I'd follow you to the ends of the galaxy, and I meant it."

"Come on," he says, knowing what he's doing. Knowing that, whatever happens, it will be his fault. "This way."

Kylo grabs Poe's face – sabre-hilt still in one hand – and kisses him with as much ferocity as he can. "I love you. I do. I love you. You stupid, foolish flyboy. You're too good for me, and I'm going to make it up to you. I swear. When he's dead and gone, I will do everything – **everything** you need me to." He pulls Poe close, a fierce, needing hug. 

"…but we should probably go before my mother tries to have me locked up for my own safety, and that of everyone else." 

"You just make sure you survive this," Poe says, words hot against the other man's lips. "If you die, you can rest assured I'll kill you."

He kisses Kylo again. Trying to look confident and certain and not slightly terrified. Trying – so very hard – not to let the feelings echo along their bond.

And then, gripping Kylo's hand, he leads the way down to the other end of the landing strip, where the two TIE-Interceptors sit side-by-side, in the cool, evening air. There aren't many people about – they're mostly still gathered in the central bunker – and the few who are around aren't anywhere close to the Interceptors.

"Believe me, I'm going to try as hard as I can not to die," Kylo tells him. They get close to the two craft, and Kylo uses the Force to open one up, silently. "At least I won't be cramped with your droid on my lap this time." 

Poe does _not_ like the thought of leaving BB-8 behind. But… he has to. It's insane enough to risk himself this way. He is not risking his droid as well.

The two men scramble up into the ship, Poe in the pilot's station and Kylo in the gunner's. The second they're both in place, Poe shuts the hatch again, running through the pre-flight checks as he straps himself in, trying to let the familiar actions keep him focused.

"Hold tight," he says, as he sparks the engines to life all at once. "I gotta do this fast. And… Kylo… I love you, OK? Don't ever forget that."

"Don't worry," Kylo reassures him, and feels the slide of metal under fabric when his head turns, trying to smile at the back of his lover's beautiful curls. A hidden reminder he's not removed once. "I won't ever." 

Poe takes a deep breath, and yanks up on the stick, sending the Interceptor roaring skywards before anyone on the ground can react. He kills the radio, programming in hyperspace co-ordinates as they go, bringing the ship hurtling through the atmosphere almost painfully hard, and punching to lightspeed the second he can.

And they're away.

And, back down on the surface, as people come running, confused, alarmed, a single droid rolls into the empty landing pad. It turns its central dome upwards, staring mournfully at the darkening sky.

BB-8 bleeps, softly. Wondering what's happened. Wondering what went wrong.

No good pilot flies without their astro.

Which, right now… makes Poe Dameron the other thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and we'll be back tomorrow, for The Big One.


	30. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, people. The darkest part of the darkest arc.
> 
> Trigger warnings for mind rape with physical undertones.
> 
> Take a deep breath...

The journey to the Valdorn system is a quiet one, and Poe is almost relieved when the arrival detectors bleep and he brings the ship out of hyperspace and back to sublight. The instant he does, the proximity alarms immediately take over where the arrival detectors left off, and Poe curses under his breath, bringing the TIE-Interceptor to a slightly juddering halt.

In front of him, filling the whole field of view, is the planet Altraz: a startlingly red-hued desert world covered with range after range of jagged mountains. Beyond it, glowing vibrantly, is Valdorn itself, a white supergiant, almost pulsating in the dark of space.

But Poe doesn't have more than a second to admire the system, because he's instantly forced to react to the ship lying between the planet and their current location: a huge Star Destroyer of some unknown class – larger, even, than the _Finalizer_ – but with one very obvious, very troublesome feature.

Gravity well projectors. Four of them.

"Kylo," Poe breathes. "I think that's the _Decimator_. And… it's an Interdictor. If they activate the interdiction field… nothing within range can jump into hyperspace."

He goes cold. If they'd brought the fleet here… they'd all have been trapped.

"…that… is not good." Right? Kylo doesn't know how to operate a ship, but he knows the mechanics behind space-travel. He knows them far too well, because he was drilled in them for years. And if he'd known that it was an Interdictor…

"Perhaps Ackbar was right." It really is a trap. Just a bigger trap than the one they'd thought it was.

What if the Resistance comes after them? "Poe, can you tell D'Qar not to come? Because if they come after us… they'll be stuck here, too." 

"No," Poe answers, softly. "We're in a TIE, not one of the X-Wings. We use a very specific signal frequency for hyperspace communication, and I don't have it."

It's another reason he took one of the Interceptors. So no one could get on the radio and talk him into coming back.

Poe goes colder still. Kylo is right. If their departure fires everyone up and incites them to follow…

"…We're just going to have to do this quickly," he says. "If the fleet does decide to come after us… it will take them time to prepare. So we need to do this faster."

Do this faster. Sneak onto a Star Destroyer and kill a galactic mass-murderer with untold Force powers. Right.

Kylo goes through several curse words in just as many languages inside his head. Some of them he lacks the vocal cords to speak aloud, but he still knows the sounds and feel of the words as intimately as he knows Basic. "All right. Not that there's the slightest bit of pressure." His tone is completely deadpan there, too upset to be anything but.

He also isn't wearing his mask.

He's not sure why he's only just realised, or why it's only now feeling like a problem, but it is. He's left his mask, and his whole… outfit… behind. He's still dressed like some commoner, and all he has is his lightsabre, and his pilot fiancé. 

"…can you get us aboard fast?"

Which would be where the two of them being in a TIE has its one big advantage. "Yes," Poe replies. "I just need to broadcast the friendly signal and move in to dock. And… spin them some story about where we've come from…"

He returns power to the sublights, and starts to move in, activating the friendly signal and waiting for a response.

_"…Unsanctioned TIE-Interceptor, this is_ Decimator _squadron control. Identify."_

Deep breath. Poe Dameron is a man of many talents, but lying is not one of them.

" _Decimator_ control, this is… FN-2187. Request docking clearance."

_"FN… that's a_ Finalizer _designation. What are you doing here?"_

"…We suffered a hyperdrive malfunction during interplanetary manoeuvres," Poe lies, as convincingly as he can. "Our fuel cells are low and we need to make repairs."

There's a pause, and a crackle on the line. _"Copy that. You are cleared to land in Bay 3. Remain in the Interceptor until a security team arrives to verify your identity."_

Good enough. "Roger, _Decimator_ control. Inbound now."

Poe waits until the comm signal closes before he glances over his shoulder. "That could have gone worse."

"Yes. You could have announced you were Luke Skywalker, and you had a bomb." Kylo bangs his head into the headrest behind him. "That's the stormtrooper who _broke a Resistance pilot out of the First Order's hands_ , Poe. Couldn't you have at least changed one number?" 

…Well, damn. "I was thinking fast!" Poe exclaims, very much wanting to bash his own head on something hard, too. "Besides… they know _precisely_ who we are. I'm sure of it. Otherwise they'd have blown us to pieces the second I spoke. Maybe before. The First Order does not care about one lone TIE."

It is not a good thought.

But right now, all he can do is bring the Interceptor arcing down towards the _Decimator_. The sheer size of it is horrifying, and he can't help wondering if this particular Star Destroyer is modelled on the _Executor_. It has something of the infamous ship about it, albeit made _worse_ by those gravity well projectors.

…Don't think about it.

"Could you get them back on the comm and ask for a private audience with the Supreme Leader, so we can talk about our Lord and Saviour, Darth Vader?" Kylo probably isn't helping, but he's also terrified out of his mind. The closer they get, the harder it is to think through the fog. 

Pause.

"…sorry. I…" Kylo reaches out to push a gentle, caring thought in. He's struggling with his words again, and feeling and emotion is always easier to convey for him like this. "This… place." 

"I know," Poe replies, softly. "I know."

And that cold feeling won't lift. He's starting to think it isn't just in his head.

"We can do this, Kylo. _You_ can do this. Everything you've been chasing since Eigengrau… it's within your grasp."

The _Decimator_ looms larger and larger, its vast structure starting to resolve into specific features: cannons, launchers, hangars. Bay 3 is still lighting up on Poe's scope, and he brings them in towards it, aware that other TIEs are turning to watch them as they go.

And then… they're inside, moving slowly down to a landing pad within the bay.

"…do you think… you should stay with the ship?" Kylo asks, as they move to land. "Ready to go. Ready to… escape?" When I fuck up. When I fuck up and he kills me. When I literally prove everyone right and he murders me and I screw the galaxy up one last time. 

"I am not leaving you, Kylo," Poe insists, fiercely. "I am going to stand by your side when you kill this hateful man, and then I will take you home in _whatever ship I like_ , and tell stories of your victory to everyone."

"…he's going to kill me." Kylo's certain, now. "He's brought me here to execute me, Poe. If we try to fly away, now, they'll shoot us down. But maybe if he's too busy killing me, you can still get away…" 

The ship is down, power to the engines cut, so Poe yanks off his crash harness and turns round in his seat. " _Kylo_ ," he says, urgently, reaching over to grip his lover's shoulder. "You can do this. You are _ready_ for this. He is not going to kill you. He is going to rue the day he _dared_ interfere with you."

Off to the side, out of the window, Poe can see a squad of Stormtroopers moving closer.

Fuck.

"We need to go now," he insists. "Before their 'security team' gets hold of us."

Kylo's brought him here to die. He's brought his lover here, like a plaything for a monster. No amount of distance in the galaxy is far enough away from Snoke's reach, if he wants you, but Kylo's gone and played right into the man's hands. Again. 

He hates himself. He really, truly hates himself, right now.

And he has to kill Snoke. He has to, if they want to live.

"All right. But I – I – need you to know. If this is it… if I die, now… I need you to know it was worth it. All of it was worth it. _You_ were worth it. And if anything will give me the strength to fight and win, it's you, Poe. It could only ever be you." 

"You were worth it too," Poe tells him. "You _are_ worth it. And you will continue to _be_ worth it when this monster is long dead. Now… Kylo, please, _hurry_."

And, without waiting for agreement, he pulls the hatch release – he's deliberately landed so the hatch opens away from the main body of the hangar, and close to the side – and moves to climb out, drawing his blaster as he goes.

Kylo climbs out shortly after, his sabre in his hand, ready to fight. "It's likely this way," he says, and leads Poe into one of the corridors. There's people there, and he makes sure every one of them looks away. It isn't easy to do, but they walk through the crowds with a terrifying ease. 

"Whatever he says to you… ignore it," Kylo reminds him. "He lies. He lies, and he bends the truth, and he's a nasty, nasty individual." 

"I know," Poe tells him, staying close, alarmed by how easily Kylo keeps the people in the corridors from paying attention to them. He's been expecting a firefight – he _still_ expects a firefight – so this… even knowing what Kylo can do… it's a lot to take in.

They walk through the _Decimator_ like they're ghosts, not people. Doors open, and the crowds part around them, but there's no other indication they're actually here other than their breath and their footsteps. It's eerie in the extreme. 

Kylo walks them all the way to what must be a throne room, if he understands ship logic at all. He can feel the evil pouring off the room in waves, and he knows that behind that door… behind that door is the source of the _voice_. Of all his suffering, of all his pain. He grabs Poe's hand, then lets go to open the door. 

Inside, the room is much like the room of both their nightmares. A high dais, a being sitting atop a throne. There's no one else in the room, but there doesn't need to be. Light from above – just a single source – that casts a glow from behind onto the Supreme Leader's scarred head. 

Kylo steps instinctively between Poe and the figure, who doesn't even stand.

"So, Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren. You have come to complete your training."

"No," he replies, voice hoarse and broken. "I have come to kill you." 

"Have you?" Snoke's hand turns, his fingers curling up like an Eberon spider. "You are only here because I called for you to come, Lord Ren."

"I am here because I decided to come!" Kylo's voice is shaking, and his sabre snicks out and flares into life in his hand. "You have played with my mind for the last time. Why don't you face me, _coward_?"

The hand clasps over thin air, a gesture that makes the air around Poe Dameron suddenly collapse, like a star dying into a black hole. 

Somewhat caught by the horror of what he's already witnessing, the instant dearth of oxygen takes Poe completely by surprise. He manages to keep his footing – for now – but it's a close-run thing, the rapid hypoxia pressing on him like a terrible, agonising weight.

He tries to speak, but he can't, which kicks the panic up higher, and…

…and he fights for focus. _To_ focus. To _not give in to this_.

" _Whatever he does to me, don't let it stop you,_ " he thinks, down their bond, hoping Kylo can still hear him. " _Kill this monster_."

No matter what _happens_ to me. But this part, he can't even give mental voice to.

"So you would torment a _pilot_ instead of your _pupil_? Even Emperor Palpatine faced Lord Vader!" Kylo's already losing control, the panic of Poe being in danger whiting out any emotional stability he might have had. He charges at Snoke, sabre singing as he lashes--

\--hands frozen, arms above his head, the gesture stopped with a thought and--

_Oh, Poe. I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry._

"Your training is incomplete, and your control is laughable, Ren." Snoke lets the grip on Poe alleviate, just keeping him on the edge of passing out. He keeps Kylo frozen in his attack stance, and he slides to his feet.

"You leave him **alone**."

"Why? I asked you to bring him, to come, and you did. I asked you here, Ren. You know it to be true." Snoke walks to Poe, starting to pace around him, to rake eyes from head to toe. "He's smaller than in your dreams."

" **LEAVE HIM ALONE**."

"Do you think he'll enjoy me fucking his mind, as you do? I could make him enjoy it… I could make him worship me, instead of you. Even with your bond, your power is so… _weak_ …" The grip on Poe's chest goes, and instead Snoke slams the man down and onto his knees. A hand around his throat, tilting his head upwards. "He'd enjoy it. He'd enjoy me more than you. He'd call _me_ **Master**."

Snoke slams into Poe's mind, harder than Kylo ever does. He slams in with the force of one who has done this for centuries, who knows his will so well that it's all that Poe can feel. A slew of lewd images, and he reaches in his mind for that place in Poe's brain that feels lust…

" _Don't let him don't let him don't let him_ ," Kylo begs Poe.

For a moment, it is all far, far too much, and Poe's mind just _crumples_ under the sheer weight of the assault, swimming with thoughts and images so dark and terrible that even he could not reconcile himself with them, and yet… and yet…

…but the darkness is in him, isn't it? The _Dark_ ness? He may not be Force-sensitive, but some things apply regardless, and he knows he's torn in half inside, ripped between the good, hopeful, decent human being he tries to live as, and… the dark, broken, hedonistic self he's only just discovered, and yet is already defined by.

The need that burns in him like fire, unquenchable, all-consuming. The need that brought him crashing to his knees before Kylo Ren long before he saw anything in the man _but_ the Dark Side. The need that made him submit when it still could have left him a helpless thrall of the enemy.

The need that, on some very deep level, still enjoys that exact thought all too much.

But…

…no. No. _No_. _**No**_.

This is what he fears, not what he wants. Lust without love. Pleasure without care. A man who would make him kneel for the sake of it, not because of the genuine _gift_ that the action could be.

_Wake up. Wake up. Wake up…_

"I… will _never_ … surrender to you…" Poe gasps out. The words are literal torture to say, an agony to voice, and he's sure he can feel blood trickling down his nose from the sheer effort of it.

He flicks his eyes to the side. The only movement he's capable of right now. "…Kylo… _kill this monster_ …"

Kylo knows that fighting a war on two fronts is the hardest thing to do. Most Force-sensitives handle one thing at a time well, or two things badly. It's why they normally don't try to enter one another's minds whilst fighting with sabres, and it's why they tunnel-vision down when they _are_ in someone's head. Keeping two people locked into place, and slipping into their heads as well, is difficult. Even for Snoke. 

All Kylo has to do is win _one_ thing. One thing, and he can move. He can feel Poe's horror and pain, and he can also feel Snoke's will bearing down on him. He can tell they don't have long, not long at all. 

_Eigengrau. It has to be Eigengrau. He tries to pull the memory of the clearing back, as clearly as he can. He feels the joy and the tightening of the bonds that formed even when he couldn't feel them, and he throws the thought – the touch of fingers above a blaster, the look exchanged, the hand behind his neck, the press of foreheads together and the longing, longing, longing – he throws it out as hard as he can to Poe._

"Oh, how delicious," Snoke says, and his hand moves to choke the pilot's throat. "He wanted to please you, and you wouldn't let him. You were too weak to use him as he deserved. You should have raped him then and there. He'd still have loved it."

Kylo's arms sweep down, and the blade gets almost close enough to hit. Anger and fury, a fear for his beloved, and the knowledge that he _is not the man that Snoke wanted him to be_. "Face **me**." He can still move, but Snoke repels him from getting too close, a bubble of malevolence around his pilot.

"I'm going to teach you what it means to Master the Dark, Ren."

" **FIGHT ME**!" Kylo yells, and flares out with the Force. It makes the room echo with the shockwave, but the bubble around Snoke is too strong. "You are a COWARD. You are a MONSTER. I am going to _kill you_."

Snoke slams back into Poe's mind, letting the furious Sith slash at thin air and scream blue murder. He slams in so hard that Poe's face is streaked with the fresh flow of blood, dragging angry mental claws through his head.

"Did he tell you about the younglings? How he killed them? You know he did. Everyone knows he did. He did it, and I didn't even need to encourage him. He wanted them all dead. Why do you think he enjoys you so much? Hurting you? It's because his pleasure-centres are wired up wrong, like yours. He thinks pain – death – suffering… he takes pleasure in that. He woke up remembering the blood in the room with his hand in his pants for the next year. He pretended he didn't like it, but he knew the answer was there in the fullness in his palm."

Kylo screams again, and tries to push past Snoke's hand in Poe's head. "Leave him alone!"

"Did he tell you about the time he beat a Twi'lek to death? Blaster-bolts and lightsabre wounds are one thing. But he lost control and he punched her. He punched her so hard her internal organs ruptured. He felt them giving way inside of her, and he carried on going. The skull caved in last. Her eyes were still moving, even after her brains fell out through the hole. I know, because I was watching."

"Stop it! Poe, don't listen to him, don't listen to him!" 

But it's true. Everything Snoke is saying, it's true. Kylo did wake up after nightmares with an erection, though he doesn't know for certain that Snoke hadn't slipped into his mind while he slept to make that happen. 

He did beat the woman to death. He can't even remember why. She'd annoyed him somehow, and his lack of control had led to his fists and it wasn't even about punishment, really, it was just about rage and a need to get rid of the excess emotions inside of him.

"The problem is, you like it, too…" Snoke strokes his mind against the parts of Poe that react, a cold, icy grip in his pants and in his brain. He finds mental images (a tree, a waterfall, fingers inside of him, more) and he pulls those sharply to the forefront. He makes Poe relive Kylo fucking him, makes the image so loud nothing else can be seen. "…you like the man I made for you. You like the Dark Knight of mine. You crave his Darkness. You need his cruelty. You want him to sin, and you want him to sin in you."

Kylo can't get past the Force-field, and he's rapidly losing the ability to cope. He can feel Poe's horror, and he just… he can't.

"…you like the man I made. You _love_ his hands, covered in blood. You'd serve by his side – or mine – on your knees as you were intended. Do you think the pain he gives to you comes from anything but his wicked heart?"

There's no way to beat him, not physically, and even as strong as Poe is, he's going to snap. Kylo knows, because Kylo remembers snapping _himself_. And this is nothing like what he did to him on Eigengrau, nothing like that sliver of a moment of pain. This is – this is a monster, preying on the innocent. And Kylo knows if they don't kill him, don't stop him, that there's going to be more children fall. He grabs his sabre, and turns it off. And around. And stands as if ready to flick the blade into life to kill himself. 

" **Enough**." 

Snoke's attention wavers, just for a second.

"N-no," Poe chokes out. A cracked word of defiance, not a plea. " _No_." His voice is wrecked, but he forces the words to the surface. "What he gives me… it doesn't come from wickedness. I know what _wickedness_ is. I've seen it… in a superweapon that could obliterate entire planets. In _you_. If Kylo was wicked… he _would_ have raped me in that clearing. He would have carried on doing it. He would have broken me down, bit by bit. But this… this is something else. Something _you_ could never understand. All you know is _lust_. This? This is _love_ , and love is _Light_ , just as your precious Knight is _Light_ , too. As Light as he is Dark. And you will not take that from him. From either of us."

The pilot just lets the words run and run, partly because he means them, but partly to buy Kylo time. This… this is going wrong on every level, and if they don't do something soon…

…no, no, no, don't think that…

It hurts. It _hurts_. Mentally, physically, emotionally. He can withstand a _great_ deal of pain, but _everyone breaks eventually_.

"Kill him, Kylo. No matter what he does to me. Let him. I told you I'd give you _everything_ , and that means I'll die for you if I have to. _Kill. Him_."

"No," Kylo says, because he can't. He can't, and he won't. He can't let Poe go, and he knows that this was Snoke's intention all along. He can't let Poe die. He'd rather die himself, and his thumb wavers on the button. 

Only the knowledge that Snoke will find someone else, and will torture Poe until he's gone, keeps him from ramming the lightsabre through himself. But the thought that he might – the idea that his plan might fail – causes Snoke to waver just long enough.

Kylo takes that moment and hurls himself as hard into Poe's head as he possibly can. The Light and the Dark surge up inside of him; the need to save his beloved, the need to keep him from pain, and the need to punish the one doing this to them both in the first place. Adoration, mingled with loathing absolute. Kylo drops to his knees from the effort, the sabre falling from his hands as his mind goes _elsewhere_.

All the way out, like he's not even in the body slumped into a broken kneel. Instead he meets Snoke full on in Poe's head, not knowing if it will cause lasting psychological damage, but needing to fight for his sanity and his soul like he never could fight for his own.

" **You get the hell out of my pilot, you monster** ," he snarls, and throws his weight at Snoke with no holds barred.

"Oh, how precious. You find some strength at last, and it's because of a weakness. How very like _Darth Vader_."

Yes. Very like. Kylo rails against him, years of repressed anger coming flooding out with the memories he's locked deep inside, the hatred for this man, this creature who broke his mind and his will. Kylo walls Poe's flickering light up behind himself, and somehow makes him start to move.

"What do you think you're doing?"

" **Getting him home** ," Kylo says. 

"You'll never get him out of here alive."

"You just watch me." 

" _ **No!**_ " Poe howls, bloodied and anguished and realising all too late what Kylo is trying to do to him. "No… you don't get to do this for me… you don't get to push me out… I came here to help you and _I will die before I let **him** take you from me!_ "

Precisely where the energy to move comes from, Poe doesn't know. Even though the main onslaught against him has lifted a little, he still feels utterly wracked with pain, way beyond what he could possibly want or enjoy or tolerate. But… the battle taking place _in his head_ means that Snoke's control over him is not as absolute as it was, and in the confusion, the pilot somehow finds himself able to act again.

And that inexplicable energy takes over, making him leap suddenly upwards – sharp, unco-ordinated movements that he'll pay for later, if he survives this – and swipe Kylo's sabre-hilt up from the ground.

He doesn't need to be a Force-user for this part. Doesn't need to be a Jedi, or a Sith, or even some strange non-Force-sensitive-Grey Sith, or _whatever_ he is.

All he needs is to be a man stung by the most intense, targeted hate he has ever felt in his life.

_Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. Suffering leads to…_

The lightsabre sparks into life, bathing Poe Dameron in _red_.

And he launches at Snoke with the weapon, fully intent on _striking the man down_.

With all of his hatred.

But the shield around Snoke deflects the sabre-blade with ease, the momentum of the attempted attack sending Poe staggering to the side a little, and the second it does, he knows it's too late.

They aren't strong enough. Kylo knows that, now. He knows they aren't strong enough, and it was a mistake to come here. He knows, too, that he came here because he was _played_ , because this beast still has his fingers deep inside his core, and the only reason he's still fighting back right now is for Poe. 

Without Poe, he would already have submitted. But he's not going to. Not until Poe is safe. 

" _I'm saving you, because I can't save us both,_ " Kylo tells him, almost not caring if Snoke can hear this or not. " _Get my uncle back. And get revenge_."

And he's pushing Poe's body out of the room, the kneeling form staring up at Snoke with absolute hatred in his eyes. 

"So you'll send a pilot away, a useless, non-Sensitive, because you think you love him?"

"There is no 'think' about it, and he's more powerful than you will ever understand," Kylo replies, voice strained to breaking point. "He's what's keeping you from winning."

"But I am winning."

"No. You're not. If you were, he wouldn't be walking towards that door."

"You assume I want him more than I want _you_."

"And you assume this is your choice. It isn't. It's **mine**." Kylo closes his eyes and opens Poe's. He can see the way ahead, and the sabre in Poe's hand is still humming. He forces him step by agonising step away from them, deflecting Snoke from Poe with all he has. He can barely breathe while he's doing it, the focus and concentration needed taking up all of his mental skill.

"You're leaving him to me," Snoke calls out to Poe, even as he's out of earshot, knowing he'll hear. "I'll break him under me all over again. And when your precious Jedi returns, he'll cut his heart out in front of you." 

"I won't let you do this, I won't let you do this!" Poe keeps crying, though it's hard to tell if he's talking to Kylo, or to Snoke, or to both of them. The mental anguish is so great that he can hardly feel the physical now, despite the fact it's still blazing through him like fire. He struggles to fight the presence in his head, but he can't, he can't, and before he knows it he's out the door and…

…it slams shut behind him.

The instant it does, both Kylo and Snoke are gone from Poe's head, and he feels like he's just broken the surface of deep, icy water. The sabre is still in his hand, still lit, and he turns back to the door, hammering on it, screaming Kylo's name over and over, then backing off and trying to slash it open with the lightsabre blade, and…

…and he can't. He can't. He can't get back in.

" _ **Kylo!**_ "

People are converging on him, Stormtroopers and soldiers, weapons drawn, and panic floods Poe's heart. His only choice is to run. To run, and leave the love of his life behind with that _monster_ , and _there is nothing else he can do_ , and the realisation is so crushing, it's like he can't breathe again.

He lets the lightsabre blade fade to nothing, clipping the hilt quickly to his belt and drawing his blaster, firing as he runs. He takes down a couple of Stormtroopers without even really noticing he's done it, hurtling along the corridors, charging away from the one place in the whole galaxy where _he needs to be_ and he can't. He can't.

His mind shuts down somewhat, the shock and the horror cutting off the emotions in his head, leaving him acting only on instinct, on survival. He runs and he runs until he somehow makes it back to the hangar bay, makes it back to where that TIE-Interceptor is still sitting.

More troopers. More targets. All just survival. Poe takes cover behind a jutting bulkhead, firing out into the bay, blasting troopers away from the ship. Their ship. His ship.

He runs again. Runs until he gets to the Interceptor, flinging himself inside, slamming the hatch shut, activating systems. Still on some kind of mental autopilot, unable to think, unable to engage, unable to focus on anything but _getting out_.

The Interceptor lifts off from the hangar bay floor, and Poe activates the cannons at once, turning them on anyone who comes near the ship. On a TIE-Fighter that starts lifting off on the far side of the bay, obviously trying to follow. The second he can, he slams on the throttle, and the Interceptor bursts out into space, into welcome blackness, into…

…fuck, fuck, fuck.

The _Decimator_ is an Interdictor. If they've activated the field… Poe won't be able to drop into hyperspace. He won't be able to get away. He'll be trapped, caught, like a dying planet swept up in the wake of a black hole, and…

…there's no interference. No gravity well. No interdiction.

_They're letting him go_.

It's the only explanation. The only reason.

Poe takes the chance whilst he can get it. He punches the hyperdrive and streaks into dazzling light, into a silent hell that will hold him in its grip until he's thrust back into the far greater one waiting for him at the other end.

He's away. He's gone.

And the love of his life is gone too.

***

Poe hardly moves during the hyperspace trip. He sits in the cockpit, hands gripping the controls so hard that his whole upper body aches, trying desperately not to think, not to remember, not to re-live, not to…

_…Snoke, in his head, tripping through his memories, forcing them to the surface, filling him up with feelings he didn't want, tainted by so much malice and hate, by the echoes of Kylo's tortured past…_

No. No. No.

It's almost a mercy when the arrival detector sounds, and the Interceptor drops back to sublight, and…

…there's D'Qar. Beautiful D'Qar. Not quite Yavin 4, but close, and the place where he and Kylo spent one single, wonderful night together before…

…by the Force. Kylo. D'Qar. If Snoke has Kylo, he has the name of this planet. He has the location of the base.

They're going to have to run. Maybe not immediately, but soon.

Poe jumps as the radio crackles. "Unidentified ship, do you copy? Dameron? Dameron, is that you?" The voice is familiar, but Poe's mind can't pin down who it is.

"…I copy. I… clearance. I need landing clearance."

"You have it. Same bay you left from. Are you..?"

"No. I'm not."

Talking is bad right now. _Everything_ is bad right now. Poe cuts the radio and brings the Interceptor down towards the surface, his flightpath irregular and juddering, as barely held together as he is.

And… there's the base, surrounded by trees, beautiful and wonderful and home and…

…grey. Everything feels so grey. Not Grey, like the Force in Balance, but _grey_ , like a world without colour. It should be resplendent in the grip of night, now: the sky deep indigo, the trees deep, deep green in the low light. But… no.

Grey. All grey. Or… that's how it feels.

The Interceptor touches down right where it left off. Poe cuts the power, tugs off his crash harness, opens the hatch, and…

…staggers down. Staggers out, into the cool night air. He looks an absolute state: covered in blood, dishevelled, hardly able to stand, with his blaster on his right hip and Kylo's lightsabre hilt on his left. He makes it about five steps out onto the concourse before he falls down onto his knees in agonised exhaustion, head back to stare brokenly at the star-swept sky overhead.

People come running. He hears them as if at a remove, as if they exist in a world next to his own but not actually _in_ his own. He's hardly aware of any of it until he feels someone grab hold of him and yank him to his feet, arms wrapping around his shoulders and not letting go.

It's Snap Wexley.

"Poe, what happened, what in the hell _happened?_ " the other man says to him. He himself sounds utterly washed-out, like he's been out of his mind with fear, anger, worry, for hours.

"…my fault," Poe chokes, trying to push his best friend off and rapidly discovering that he doesn't have the strength to do it. "All my fault. I shouldn't have… should never have… fuck… _fuck_ …"

His knees all but give way that that, though the other man doesn't let him fall. "Easy," Snap says. "Easy, I got you." And then, still holding on to Poe, Snap looks round at someone standing close by. "Get General Organa. And a medic. And have every inch of that Interceptor searched for tracking beacons."

Several people go running. Poe still can't lift his head.

"Poe, where's Kylo?" Snap again.

"…Snoke…" Poe chokes out. "He…"

He can feel the way the other man tenses in horror.

"Hold on. You're gonna be OK." Automatic words, now, because there's nothing that can really be said at this point, and Poe knows it, and Snap clearly knows it too.

Within a moment, a medical team comes running, and Poe tries to struggle out of Snap's grip again, not wanting any of this. Not wanting them to help him. He needs the pain. He _deserves_ the pain.

And that's when he processes that some of the footsteps aren't the medics at all.

"Poe." Just his name. That's all she says. General Leia Organa, the mother of Ben Organa-Solo **and** Kylo Ren. She stands in front of him, her expression… pained. Her face pulled into something like coping, something like professional, and clearly not coping at all. Clearly a woman who had hoped beyond hope, had held out for years, and had the carpet pulled from under her feet. "Where is my son?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...for the record, this one literally broke both of us.
> 
> We'll be back tomorrow for... what comes next.


	31. Survivor Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so apparently we broke quite a few of you (again) with that last chapter. Honestly, we're not surprised. We broke us, too.
> 
> For now, have some... 'closure' is not the word. Not at all. Maybe 'some of what comes next' would be more accurate.
> 
> Speaking of what comes next, we will - perhaps unsurprisingly! - be doing another four-part updateathon over next weekend. The update schedule for this week will therefore be: today (Monday), Wednesday, and then Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. (Draw a big circle around this coming Sunday on your calendars, people. A _big_ circle.)
> 
> In the meantime, we take you back to your regularly-scheduled emotional trauma...

The only thing worse than Leia Organa's question is that Poe doesn't get to answer it straight away. Before he can even draw breath, the medics are upon him, insisting on checking him over, and – no matter how much he protests that he's fine, that he doesn't need it, that he doesn't want them _touching_ him – there's no getting out of it.

The one saving grace is that he is not, in fact, badly hurt in a physical sense. He's covered in blood, yes, but it's almost entirely a result of the mental battle that was waged in his head, and – now that's stopped – so has the bloodflow.

He'll only tolerate the bare minimum, though, and once it's done, the medics take the hint and leave him alone in the little room at the end of the base's med-bay, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor.

His mind is stuck in loops, refusing to process any of the thoughts tripping through it. Any of the memories. Anything.

Leia sits on the edge of the bed next to Poe, her hands clasped on her lap, not touching him. Not yet. She obviously doesn't know if she dares or not.

"Poe." Just his name, again. Soft. Trying to pull his attention back to the here and now. "Can you tell me what happened?" 

Poe can't look at her. Even with all of his instincts, his sense of duty, his lifelong loyalty to this incredible woman, he can't look at her now. Maybe _because_ of those things too. She's his hero, his general, his leader, and he's just delivered her only son to the hands of their greatest enemy.

Worse. _Worse_. To the hands of the _monster_ who abused him and broke him for _decades_.

The pause is a long one. A long, long, empty stretch of time.

But the truth will always spill out.

"…I…"

His voice is still wrecked from the screaming. His first attempt to say anything goes nowhere, and he has to stop and start again before the words will form.

"…It's my fault," Poe says, softly. "I… after Kylo stormed out of the Command Team meeting… he was angry, running hot, riled… you saw… and he… he was dead-set on going after Snoke. So… I told him I would take him there. I'd seen the co-ordinates for Altraz on Ackbar's holo-map. I told him he could do this. He needed a pilot. I took him there. I…"

Struggling for focus, Poe takes a deep breath and then continues. "…We made it to Altraz. We found the _Decimator_ – it's an Interdictor; if we'd taken the fleet we might all have been killed – and got on board and… we confronted Snoke. _Kylo_ confronted Snoke, and…"

He trails off. Not sure how to go on. He keeps trying to say the words and he can't.

"He isn't dead." Leia's clearly sensed as much through the Force. Her eyes flicker down to the sabre hilt, attached to Poe's belt. "He's still there, isn't he? B-- Kylo. He's still onboard the _Decimator_?" 

Poe nods, eyes closed, fighting back tears. His whole body is shaking like he's just been pulled from icy water, and he can't… he can't… he _can't_ …

"…Yes," he manages. "Snoke… Snoke didn't want him dead. He wanted him _back_. He… Kylo tried to fight him, but Snoke was too strong, and Snoke… he…"

Again, the words die on his lips, and it's a long, agonising moment before he makes himself keep going.

He has to say it. Even if only once. He has to say it.

"…Snoke tortured me. He… raped my mind… made me… made me remember… made me _feel_ …"

It's too much. Poe slips down from the bed, turns, and slams both hands into the wall, more than hard enough to hurt.

But he can barely process it.

Leia stands and reaches out with one hand, glancing against his shoulder, waiting for a response before she tries to pull him into her chest. "Poe… Poe. It's okay. You're here now. He can't get to you here. Kylo saved you, didn't he? My son… he sent you back to us…" 

The touch makes Poe jump like he's been hit, and he tries to push Leia off on instinct, not wanting the contact. Not wanting _any_ contact. Needing everyone to _stop touching him_.

"He saved me," the pilot says, after a moment. Knowing, on some level, that this is true, even if it doesn't feel like he's been _saved_ at all. "He got me out. He… they fought in my mind, and it was enough for Kylo to take control and force me out of that room, and… the _things_ I saw, in my head… memories, echoes… _truths_ … I…"

Anger flares in his chest, the latent flickers of all that mental violation meaning that he can't overrule it the way he usually would. Meaning that he can't stop the words flooding out of him, raw and unchecked, as he turns to face her.

"You did this to him. _You_. You sent him away when he was _ten years old_. You _knew_ that monster was in his head and you _sent him away!_ "

Leia obviously doesn't know if she should hold him or not, but when he mentions what she did to Ben… she knows. She grabs him, and she pulls him under her chin and she holds on tight, no matter what he does. No matter how hard he fights. 

"I wanted to help him. I didn't know how, Poe. I tried to be there for him, I tried to shield him, to guide him. I tried to love him, but it wasn't enough to keep Snoke out." 

Her hands shake as she clutches him, tight, emotion choking her voice. "I didn't know what else to do. We couldn't stop Snoke. We couldn't kill him, because we couldn't _find_ him. We couldn't block him from Ben's mind, and so I thought Luke… Luke… as a Jedi… I thought the calm might help him. Might give him some peace, some… control. I loved – I **love** my son more than I love life itself, Poe, but I don't know what more I could do for him." And that, as a parent, is the most awful thing of all. 

At first, Poe tries to push her off. Tries to stop her pulling him in. But… he can't, not without _really_ fighting, and he'd never do that, so… after a moment he relents and just lets her hold him.

"…The Light was never going to work for him," Poe says. "Not on its own. It was never going to work. You must have known that." More and more numb, now, as the horror starts to settle. The thoughts about what Snoke did. The realisation that Kylo really is stuck with him again.

The certainty that this part, at least, is all Poe's fault.

"And what else could we do for him?" Leia's words are pulled out from years of pain. "All the other Jedi were long gone. Our only vision of the Dark Side was what Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine did to the galaxy. Why would we drive him further into the Dark, when it killed our father?"

She curls tighter, rocking him slightly, the maternal instinct never fully gone, just subdued. "We hoped the Light would be stronger. We hoped that love would keep him with us. We hoped he'd find a way to protect himself… Poe… do you really think any of us wanted to let Ben hurt? Don't you think me, Han, Luke… don't you think we'd have readily thrown ourselves between him and any pain? We didn't know what else to _do_." 

Poe knows this is true, deep down. He knows the person Leia is – even if he doesn't know Solo or Skywalker in the same way – and he knows that Leia, certainly, would never have wanted to hurt Kylo.

But it doesn't change what happened. It doesn't change the mistake. It doesn't change the truth of that moment when Kylo was fifteen, when…

"…I saw it. The day of the massacre. The day he… I saw it. A memory, a vision, I…"

Kylo killed them all. It was the worst moment of his life and it has _haunted_ him ever since, and _Snoke will make him do things like that all over again_ , and…

"…I left him behind." The words barely more than a whisper. "I left him behind, to be forced back into that. I told him I would _die_ for him and I _left him behind_..!"

Leia's fingers clutch him tighter, harrowed by his words. "Did you? Poe… he wanted you to come home, didn't he?" Maybe it's the Force, maybe it's just that she still knows her boy, deep down inside. "He didn't want you to… to suffer. To go through what he's going through. You can't blame yourself, because… it doesn't bring them back when you do. Not the blame."

No. Not the blame. 

"He loves you, Poe. And you're going to have to know it will be enough. You brought him back to me once, you can do it again. He loves you. You're the safety we could never give him. Please, don't blame yourself for what Snoke is doing. Just work with me to stop it. We'll throw our whole fleet at him, if it comes to it." Although would the General of the Resistance do that? Even for her own son? Possibly. 

Poe knows there is truth in Leia's words. Deep down, he does. But it's hard to grasp hold of it when, at the same time, he is _crushed_ by guilt. Even though he knows that, had he not run when he did, Snoke would either have murdered him, or carried on torturing him. Even though he knows that _would_ break Kylo, and then… then there'd be no one left to pull him back.

He slips slowly out of Leia's grasp, but doesn't move away, looking her in the eyes. Some flickers of the daring pilot he really is showing through, even swamped in so much grief.

"I will do whatever it takes to bring him home. Whatever you need. Just say the word, and I'll see it done. I have to. I have to… to find some way… some way back…"

"Poe." His name. Always his name. "…is there something you're not telling me? Something you think I need to know?" She lets him slide out of her arms, but she still stays close to him. "I'm his mother. And – when all's said and done – it sounds like I'm soon going to be yours, too. If it's something you don't want me to know, I understand. But… whatever you say to me goes no further. I only want to help you, and to get B-- Kylo home, safe and sound." 

"…I did tell you," Poe whispers. "This is my fault. I took him there. I _flew_ him there. Kylo… I love him so much, but Kylo can barely fly a ship to save his life. He would never have ended up where he did if I had… if… _if I had been able to say no to him just **once** …_"

But he couldn't, could he? He hasn't been able to say no to Kylo Ren since the man first pulled the secret of that map from his mind. Or… no. No. It's deeper than that. It's about _choice_.

He hasn't been able to say no to Kylo Ren since the moment he first _chose_ to fall to his knees. Since he _chose_ to surrender.

A planet, trailing in the wake of a star. Enriched by its light. Scorched by its fire.

Defined by it.

Nothing without it.

Leia reaches up a hand, just gently pushing Poe's hair back from his temple, a sad smile on her face. "You do realise he'd find a way, no matter what? He'd have made someone take him to another planet, and stormed up to the First Order, pretending he was going to surrender our location, if he had to. You didn't… he would have found a way. He always had a gift for that, for sneaking around and bending rules. You just made it a little easier for him to do it." 

Poe nods. He _does_ know. He knows full-well, _and_ he knows that anyone else who might have got caught up in this would have been far less likely to come home alive.

But it doesn't change the memories. It doesn't change _what happened_.

It doesn't change the images waiting for him, every time he closes his eyes.

Leia lowers her hand again, and looks down to her feet. "He got you home to us. I'm assuming he was still fighting with everything he had. I'm willing to bet he's been doing it every day he's been gone, and you're what gave him the final strength to cut through. We just have to get… Luke. Luke and Rey, and you. And then we'll bring our boy home, for good." 

"I know," Poe says, very softly. "I know. And… I know I have to hold on to that."

A tilt of her head – so like her son, at times – and Leia's eyes crease. "You think you're less important, even now, don't you? Tell me, do you think his father is less important than me, or than Luke? He did all the things he did without the Force to help him. I can see why my son is so taken with you, Poe. And that's why I know you're going to save him." 

It's a moment before Poe can voice his answer to this. Before he can finally engage with the real issue that's been burning behind everything, since the very start. " _ **How?**_ How can I hope to stand against someone like Snoke? Someone even Kylo Ren, one of the most powerful Force-users of the _age_ , hasn't yet defeated? The only reason I survived long enough in that room for Kylo to have the _chance_ to rescue me is that Snoke kept me alive to keep torturing me. To keep torturing _Kylo_. And the only reason he let me go is because I'm far more of a liability to Kylo alive than dead. The power Snoke has… the power Kylo has, the power your brother has… I don't walk in that world. I _can't_ walk in that world. Put me behind the controls of a ship, and yes, I'm good. Put me in front of a man with a lightsabre, and I'm…"

…Precisely what he feels right now. _Helpless_.

"My father tortured me," Leia points out, softly. "And Han. Han, who is just like you: bright, in the Force, but unable to see it, or use it. Did it stop him from helping us blow up the Death Star? Or from defeating Palpatine? He didn't cut through the Emperor with…" she nods to Poe's hip, "…anything like that, but he still helped us. It isn't when we go alone that we win. It's when we pull together. It's when we all of us use our strengths, and our love, Poe. Me and Han helped to keep Luke from going over to the Dark. Luke helped Darth Vader to kill the Emperor. We work _together_ , or we don't work at all." 

A hand on Poe's arm, reassuring and warm. "It isn't all about who has the most ability with the Force, or who can swing the hardest, or who can fly the fastest. It's about our love for one another, and our dedication to what's good in the galaxy. You see the good in him, and you will keep fighting for him, and he will keep fighting for you. And – Force willing – that's enough. It has to be enough." 

Poe bows his head. "You always know what to say. And you always mean it. And… it's why I knew I could follow you anywhere, right from the start."

Then he wonders if perhaps he's said too much, and paces off again, taking a few steps across the room before turning to meet Leia's eyes.

"We have to move the base," he says, a little more businesslike. "Kylo knows where it is. Which means… Snoke can find out. So… we have to move the base."

She nods, watching him go sadly. Perhaps she wishes she were the General he thinks she is. The one she _tries_ to be. "I've already started work on that. We've got a beta site ready for us, our safety net. We'll be mobilised by the end of tomorrow morning." If they have that long. 

Poe nods. "Good. Don't tell me where it is, at least not yet. I… I am not sure if Kylo is still in my head… but, if he is, it means Snoke could be too, and…"

I'm a liability. A dangerous liability.

…and also I have some sort of Force-bond with your son…

Possibly he should have mentioned this part sooner.

She blinks at him, then. "In your…" From this far? That has to mean… "That's why Snoke could get in so easily. To hurt you both at the same time." No wonder they were in agony. "Poe… be careful." 

He nods, the pain in his eyes unveiled and raw. "I don't even know how it works. I'm not Force-sensitive. But, the two of us… we're bonded. In our heads. When we're close enough, we can talk to each other without speaking. And, even at a distance, sometimes I get… flickers. Like I can hear him calling out to me."

A deep breath, arms wrapped around himself, even that contact somehow painful. "I wasn't careful enough. I think… I think, when Snoke got back into Kylo's head, he got into mine a little as well."

Maybe that's why he was quite so reckless. So… angry. So… _Dark_.

"It's why you can't tell me where the beta site is. In case… I inadvertently give that up, too."

"We… should probably… try to help you with that," Leia says. "How to block. It might not work properly, but because you're not Force-sensitive, and you're at a remove, and because Kylo will be trying to keep you shielded… it might be enough. And… it's possible we can reach _him_ through **you**." She bites her lip. "Luke and I are the same. We didn't use it to talk to one another, but… I can feel… some things. And so can he. It's how we saved him, once." 

"Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to bring Kylo home… I will do it." On this, Poe is dead-set. "All you have to do is say the word. And if there is some way to shield my mind… if it can work without me having the Force… then I stand by what I said. Whatever it takes."

Which is when an actual Jedi Master would come in handy.

"We'll do it," Leia says. "But in the meantime… I don't want you to be alone. Is there someone you can trust, someone who can stay with you?" 

Poe _wants_ to be alone. He wants to be far away from everyone right now. He still feels like he's let them all down, and – even worse – he can't stop reliving what happened, over and over, inside his head.

"…Snap," he concedes, because it's easier than trying to argue. Because he knows it's not an argument he'll win. "I'll talk to Snap. No one else. I… can't. Not yet."

"Shall I have someone get him?" 

Hiding in here is pathetic. Or, that's how it feels inside Poe's head. But… it's also a blank space, devoid of things that come with their own connotations. No ships. No trees. No stars.

He nods. "All right."

Though he doubts it will take long to find the man.

"Wait here," she says, and goes outside. 

There's barely two minutes past before she comes back in, with someone hot on her heels. "It seems you inspire a lot of loyalty, Poe." Amusement is there, in with the sadness, in her tone. "He was waiting for you already." 

Snap Wexley looks like a man who has been pacing up and down somewhere for rather longer than he would have preferred, and now has more than a slight excess of energy. As soon as General Organa lets him in the room, he goes straight over to Poe and pulls him into a hug again, and Poe is simply too tired to argue.

"Maker, you had me worried," Snap says, when he finally steps back. "When you came staggering out of that Interceptor, I thought…"

He doesn't elaborate on what he thought. Though, given all the blood, it's not hard to guess.

"But… you're OK? Physically, at least?"

"Yeah, Snap. Physically, I'm fine."

"Good. I… that's good."

The rest is going to be harder, and it's clear from the look in Snap's eyes that he's not wholly sure how to do it. But that won't stop him trying. He doesn't launch straight into it, however, obviously very much aware that their leader is still in the room, and not wanting to overstep.

"I'll leave you two in peace," Leia tells them. "But if you need anything – anything at all…" 

Poe nods, managing the barest trace of a smile. "Thank you, General. Uh… Leia. Thank you."

General Organa smiles back. "You're welcome," she says, and heads out of the room.

When she's gone, an odd kind of silence descends. "How much are you gonna tell me?" Snap asks, after a moment. He hasn't moved in closer again and it's clear he's being careful.

"You don't want to know," Poe replies. He's calmed a little from how he was before – General Organa has seen to that – but the mental wounds are still as raw as raw can be. "I won't think any less of you if you just want to leave it at 'I got my boyfriend captured by the psychopath who ripped his life in half, and barely escaped in one piece'."

He isn't being hostile. He really isn't. Or, not towards Snap, certainly. Towards himself, definitely.

"I'm your closest friend," Snap points out, in his most level and reasonable tone. The one he saves for deeply serious situations, and Command Team briefings. "I _do_ want to know, so I can help you through it. I'm the one you told first, back when all this started. Remember?"

"If I recall, you hit me so hard I went straight down," Poe reminds him. Again, not unkindly. Most of the pilots are a pretty physical bunch, and they're not shy around each other.

Snap looks almost – almost – guilty about that. "Yeah, I did. I was worried about you. At the time, I thought… I thought you'd been seduced or mind-controlled or… or something like that. I couldn't fathom how you of all people would fall for one of _them_. But… I didn't have to see the two of you together for long to realise that Kylo isn't one of them at all. Not really. He is so cripplingly in love with you that it's re-made his life from the ground upwards. Five minutes of talking to him, and I knew that. Maybe less. And, yes, firm trust will take time to build, but to begin with it's enough for me that _you_ trust him, because I trust you, and you know I'd follow you to the ends of the galaxy and back if you asked me to."

A pause. Poe doesn't quite know what to say.

"Tell me what happened," Snap pushes. Obviously going for broke, this time. "All of it. As much as you can."

Poe doesn't want to re-live it again – the constant slew of images just behind his eyes are bad enough – but, at the same time… maybe it would be better if the other man knew the truth. Then he can make up his own mind how to react.

"We went to confront Snoke. He's been torturing Kylo for years. He's the one who seduced him over to the Dark Side. Who pulled him under, kept him under. Who… pushed him to murder all the Jedi apprentices that Luke Skywalker was trying to train. We went to confront him, and Snoke…"

The memory flashes in Poe's head, and it's too much. He turns away, arms wrapped tightly around himself again, head bowed.

"He hurt me. Hurt us both. But he hurt me in order to hurt Kylo. The things he did, he…"

No, no, no. Not using the word again.

"…he was in my head. He made me see things. Made me… made me _feel_ things…"

" _Fuck_ ," Snap breathes, obviously understanding. "Poe… I didn't…"

The other man is suddenly reticent to make contact. It's clearly because he's realised why Poe keeps trying to push him off, keeps trying to isolate himself, but somehow… even knowing that, even _wanting_ not to be touched, the lack of contact feels wrong.

It isn't rational. Poe knows this. But that won't stop him thinking it.

"…It… wasn't physical?" Snap's voice is shaking a little. Poe can't recall ever seeing the other man fold in on himself like this, even on a small scale.

"No. He never laid a finger on me, not physically. But… he's immensely powerful in the Force. People like that, they can… do things. Without ever touching you."

It's a good job he's facing away from Snap right now, given the sudden flush of colour in his cheeks. Given… the memories of the very much _good_ use of this power that Kylo has demonstrated on more than one occasion, and…

…and the sense of _losing him_ hits again, and Poe's mind goes blank.

"So… Kylo's done things like that to you?" Snap asks, carefully.

"Yes."

"And it's…"

"…Utterly wonderful."

"But then Snoke did it, too?"

"Yes."

"And that was…"

"…Rape."

OK, the word got out again. The word Poe does not even want to _think_ , much less give voice to. It makes his whole body go cold as ice, a sick feeling flaring deep in his stomach.

The silence is leaden, and twice as crushing.

"…Fuck, Poe, I don't know what to say," Snap manages.

Something about this makes Poe round on him suddenly, all the horrible, twisted revulsion inside his head sparking into some kind of directionless anger.

"Say what everyone will think!" he exclaims, right in the other man's face. "He broke me, he violated me, and he used me to hurt the love of my life even more than he already has. I made myself into a second victim for my boyfriend's abuser, and I ran from it all as soon as I had the chance! I put the Resistance in grave danger, put _everyone I care about_ in grave danger, and for what? _For what?!_ Because I was trying to prove I'm the hero that I so very clearly am _not_."

Snap grabs hold of him by the shoulders, obviously about to say something, but the contact is more than enough to provoke Poe into action, making him try to fight against the grip, to push the other man off, to lash out, to… something. Anything. Anything to get all this pain to stop. And Snap, for his part, just holds on to the shorter man until Poe stops moving and goes still, before pulling him into a hug.

"If you think you're not a hero, you're a damned idiot," Snap says, voice full of sudden emotion. "Do you even know how you pulled us all together? The day you first turned up, we all thought you'd have a chip on your shoulder so big, it'd need its own X-Wing. Commander in the Republic Navy, going all political to come scrap with the underdogs. And instead, you were just… _you_. You make everyone you meet like you in five seconds flat, and everyone who swings your way in two seconds or less. Kylo Ren didn't stand a Force-damned chance. He probably fell in love with you the moment you shot that blaster at his head. So… don't you dare tell me you're not a hero, Poe Dameron, because _I_ can tell you for a fact that, the day you first turned up, everyone started acting like we might actually _win_ this thing."

"But we won't! Don't you see?! We had the perfect chance, and I blew it! Same as I blew my run against the Starkiller!" Poe says, from somewhere against his best friend's shoulder.

"So you got shot down. Most people would have died if that happened. Not Poe Dameron! You just came waltzing home with a Force-damned TIE! _Again_. And this… Poe… I saw how Kylo was, just before you both ran off. When he stormed out of the meeting. There is _no_ way that man wasn't going to go after Snoke. We all knew it. We still acted surprised when the runner came from ground control to tell us what had happened, but… deep down, none of us really were. I wasn't. I almost ran after you myself, but… I knew it was something you had to do alone."

Very carefully, Snap lets go of him, taking a step back, though no more. "Tell me what you need," he pushes. "Not what you think you should say, or what people expect you to say, or even what Kylo would want you to say. Tell me what _you_ need."

"I need to get him back," Poe whispers. "I need to save him from that _monster_ before it's too late."

"I know that," Snap tells him. "I know. I mean _besides_ that. Right now."

"I need to stay busy. I need to be useful. I need… _anything_ to keep me out of my own head. I need…"

What he always needs. Poe finally meets Snap's eyes. "I need to _fly_."

Despite it all, Snap smiles. "Of course you do. So. You wanna come see the new X-Wing, or do I have to go tie a bow around it first?"

"…You got me a ship?"

Snap rolls his eyes. "Dameron. You're our squadron leader. Of _course_ I got you a ship."

Well. It's a start.

***

Snap leads the way down to the main hangar bay. It's still dark, and there aren't many people around, and that helps, because Poe really does not want to talk to anyone. When they arrive, Snap hits the power, and a flurry of spotlights all around the ship flicker on.

And… despite everything, it is a sight to behold.

A T-70 X-Wing starfighter. It's white, with orange stripes, standing there in the artificial glow, full of promise and possibility. If he hadn't just had the worst day of his life, Poe would most likely be bounding about the thing by now.

As it is, he still smiles, just a little. "She's beautiful."

Snap nods. "Damn straight. Took a bit of doing, but we can't have Black Leader flying anything sub-par."

"And… the paint job?"

The other man shrugs. "Had to be done. Your astro insisted."

"My…"

Which would be when there's a burst of beeping, and BB-8 comes racing out from behind the back of the X-Wing, wheeling so fast across the duracrete that its little chassis is just a blur. Poe drops down onto one knee to greet it and BB-8 whirls to a halt in front of him.

And… they rest their heads together, pilot and astromech. Both silent for a moment.

"I'm so sorry," Poe whispers. "I left you behind. I'm sorry."

BB-8 bleeps at him, insisting that it forgives him, and asking over and over where Kylo is.

"He was taken. Snoke has him. He…"

From the frantic chittering, the little astro is obviously deeply alarmed by this. Alarmed and sad and afraid.

"I know. I know. I'm so sorry. But… we're going to get him back. You, me, Snap, all of us. We're going to bring him home."

BB-8 beeps some more, in firm agreement, bumping up against Poe once more.

"I really am sorry," Poe whispers.

"You gotta stop apologising, Dameron," Snap says, a little way off behind him. "You gotta stop apologising, stop blaming yourself, and start fixing this."

He's right, of course. It doesn't change what happened. It doesn't change the memories. It doesn't change the soul-deep terror burning through Poe's heart.

But it might change what comes next.


	32. Pathfinder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, readers! We return, with another chapter to brighten your midweek. :-)
> 
> Just a reminder, our next updateathon is happening this weekend, so we'll be back on Friday with the first of those four chapters. Get excited for Sunday... we certainly are!

Poe does not sleep much that night. It's a while before Snap even manages to persuade him to go off and try, and it's only the very genuine exhaustion that makes him concede.

He goes back to his own room. Not to the room he and Kylo shared, their one glorious night together here, but his _own_ room, within the main barracks. It's a small space, but it's his, and it's familiar, and it has no connotations.

But he still doesn't sleep for very long. BB-8 actually curls in beside him, bleeping softly, trying to lull him under, though it's next to impossible. And, when Poe closes his eyes, sometimes he thinks he sees flashes of…

…no. No.

Come the morning, he wakes feeling washed-out and still exhausted, staggering from bed to shower to clothes to…

…Chaos. Or, no. Organised chaos. When he gets outside, he finds the base a hub of activity, as everyone makes preparations to leave. To abandon D'Qar, because they're not safe here any longer. And that, too, fills him with a stab of pain, at the thought of losing this planet, the first place he's managed to think of as _home_ besides Yavin 4.

Poe can't help with most of the preparations. He doesn't want to risk inadvertently hearing the name of the planet where the beta site is located. He can't. If it's in his head, it isn't secret.

But he can't sit idly. He goes to assist in the central bunker, co-ordinating the loading of several of the transport ships. It isn't work he can lose himself in, but it's better than nothing.

And that's when it happens. All of a sudden, one of the operators looks up, alarm writ large over her face. "We have an unidentified ship on our scanners. Just dropped out of hyperspace. Inbound now."

Poe races over to her, leaning in to look at the readings, his heart hammering in his chest. Is this it? Are they too late? Is it the First Order?

"…It's a freighter," Poe breathes, when he sees the scan report. Surprised, now. Confused.

"Shall I hail them, Commander?"

"Yes. Wide-band. Make sure they pick it up."

The young operator pings the channel and gives Poe a nod.

"Unidentified ship, this is D'Qar ground command," he says. "Flash your ident and state your business here."

The room goes silent, everyone waiting to hear the answer.

"D'Qar, this is Solo. Permission to land." The voice is unmistakably that of Han Solo, erstwhile Captain of the _Millennium Falcon_. "Someone told me to get my ass here to see my son." 

_Fuck_. Poe feels suddenly as though the bottom has dropped out of his world all over again. "Get General Organa," he says, softly, to another of the tech team. " _Quick_."

And then, back to the comm. "Copy that, General Solo. You're cleared to land."

What else can Poe say right now? _I had your son here but I accidentally lost him again?_ How is he even supposed to do this? Talking to Leia was hard enough, and he already had a good relationship with her. Han Solo… is someone else entirely.

"Copy that."

And the line goes silent. Good start.

Within a moment, Leia herself comes pacing over, the young techie hovering close by. The General's expression is… set. "Is it true?"

"Yes, General. It's true. That inbound ship… it's General Solo's."

"He… will probably thank you to drop the 'General'," Leia points out. She doesn't chide him for doing the same to her, though there's a tiny flicker in her eyes that suggests he really should. "Why is he here?"

"He… says he's come to see his son."

Leia nods, looking numb. "All right. Come with me. You need to be there for this."

_I really don't_ , Poe thinks, even though he knows she's right.

They head outside together, in time to see a small but bulky-looking freighter dropping down low over the base, coming in to land. The ship clunks to a halt on the duracrete, hissing a little as the landing hydraulics engage.

There's a few moments' silence. And… then the landing ramp descends with a clunk.

Three people stand at the top of the ramp: a female and two males. The woman – the shortest by far – stands in front, and walks down with confidence onto the landing pad. Her eyes are hidden (or magnified) by large goggles, and she smiles warmly at everyone.

Behind, the two men. One a Wookiee, who roars a greeting and follows the woman down, going straight over to Leia and wrapping her in a hug.

Han Solo lingers the longest. His head turns subtly – looking for someone – and then he follows behind his Wookiee bondsman, coming to a halt just before Leia.

"…Leia." His voice sounds strained, and the lines around his face look deeper than they ought to.

Chewie finally lets go of Leia, and grumbles a complaint at Han.

"Yeah, well, you didn't give me chance," Han says to Chewbacca. 

Chewie very much thinks that he did. 

Once she steps back from the hug with Chewie, Leia can't take her eyes off Han. "How did you know?" she asks, softly. "How did you know he'd been here..?"

All Poe can do right now is watch. He doesn't dare say a word. Partly because this is not a moment you interrupt. And partly… because he doesn't quite trust what he would say.

Han cocks his head to the small woman. "Maz. She told me I had to get my ass here. And when I said 'no', she took over my seditious First Mate and then told me…"

Maz Kanata winks up at Chewie. "You know my boyfriend will do anything for me." Then she looks over at Poe, adjusting her goggles. Up to Leia. "Who's the boy?" 

Leia glances back at Poe, giving him a little smile and – at the same time – obviously trying to get him to come closer. "Poe Dameron," she says to Maz. "Commander of the Resistance Starfighter Corps. My most daring pilot."

He tries not to blush. This is not the time. But he relents and moves in closer, up to Leia's shoulder.

"Poe Dameron, Maz Kanata." Leia gestures lightly between the two of them. "And I believe you already know who _these_ two are," she adds, with a wave to her husband and his first mate. "Han, Chewie… Poe."

"Where's Ben?" Han asks, utterly ignoring Poe. 

Chewie rolls his eyes and greets Poe in his own tongue, whilst Maz shakes her head sadly, and offers a smile to the pilot. 

Leia, meanwhile, looks a little resigned at her husband's manners, but the question is clearly not one she can leave unanswered. "He was here. He… changed, Han. He fought Snoke's influence, he…"

She glances at Poe, as if asking his permission to say what obviously comes next, and Poe just nods, deciding that – if nothing else – at least Solo might take it better, coming from his wife.

"…He and Poe fell in love. Poe pulled him back from the Dark. Helped him find a middle path. He was here, but… he went to confront Snoke, and…"

Her voice trails off, the pain unveiled in her eyes, and for a moment she can't go on.

"…And Snoke has him again," Poe cuts in, his tone bitter and agonised, deciding he's got to step up and just do this. "Snoke has him. Your son is gone."

Han's expression goes cold. Utterly, utterly cold. It's like whatever light is behind his eyes snaps out. He doesn't move, and he doesn't speak. 

Chewbacca throws his head back in an agonised growl, and even anyone who didn't understand the Wookiee tongue would know precisely what he meant to say.

"Leia…" Maz steps forwards, and reaches out for the taller woman's hand. She takes it, and holds it gently. "There is still hope. You know it." Her head swivels around to Poe.

"And you," she says, holding her other hand out. "You know it, too. I can see it, in your eyes. You know the Dark, but you know the Light, too." 

Poe feels strange when Maz speaks to him. When she looks at him. It's hard to define precisely what he means by 'strange', but at the same time impossible to deny the feeling itself. It's like she knows what he's thinking, not because she's in his head, but because… she just knows.

Odd, that he finds _this_ more unsettling than a full-on mental push. And… OK, don't think about that now.

He lets her take his hand. "Yes. I… I don't have the Force. But I know the Light. I know the Dark. I know… the path between the two of them. And I saw that realisation of the same pull Kylo Ren back from the abyss."

Maz lets go of Leia's hand, and turns to face Poe fully. She waits for him to drop to her level, knowing that he will. Not because she demands it, but because she requests it. "It is a difficult path, the middle way. More difficult than serenity, more difficult than rage. I have seen many fall from that middle ground." 

Her head tilts slightly, and she seems to look _deeper_. "It will not be easy for you. Or for him. But if you are careful, you will find a way to walk that tightrope, that thin line of balance." 

"It… is the only way," he replies, softly. "Kylo could never walk only in the Light. But… I saved him from the Dark. The Balance between them is the only sustainable path for him. It is the _right_ path for him."

For both of us. But this, Poe is not ready to say out loud. He knows – if he _was_ Force-sensitive – he could never have walked only in the Light, either. Not because of a desire to do evil, to seek power, but because he _feels_ too much, and too hot, to _ever_ find anything approaching serenity.

As to why he'll admit to having saved Kylo out loud here and now, when he brushes it off if anyone tells him the same… that's something else to worry about later.

"Yes," she says, after a long pause. "I believe you are right. Both sides of the Force are strong in his family. His grandfather was a powerful Jedi, before he was a powerful Sith. He did not live long enough to become the third." Her hands run thumbs gently over the backs of his palms, and then she lets go.

"You will need to save him again, but you know it can be done. You know it _must_ be done. That boy doesn't belong in the Dark, as much as he doesn't belong in the Light."

"So you want him to – what? Just be half a murderer?" Han growls, cutting in at last. 

"Han…" Maz turns to him, hands on her hips. "Do not deal in such absolutes. You and I both know what evil truly is."

"Yeah. And last I saw, my _son_ was doing a good job of it."

Something about this provokes Poe in a way he's not prepared for. He rises to his feet and rounds on Han Solo with more fire and emotion than he's shown in all the hours since he got back from the _Decimator_. "You don't _know_ your son," he declares, hotly. Defensively. Trying to save him again, even though he's not here to save. "You didn't know him when he was a child and you have _no idea_ who he is now."

"Poe," Leia cuts in gently. Understandingly. She knows a man crushed by post-traumatic stress when she sees one. "Poe, just take it easy for a moment."

But the pilot is having none of it. "No. I won't stand here and listen to _anyone_ talk about Kylo this way. He has been through more than you could _possibly_ know and he came back from it. Everyone who should ever have protected him ended up abandoning him. Some faster than others. He was left in the hands of _true_ evil, and he _still_ kept some sense of self. Enough to pull him back. Enough that he was still himself, when I did. So don't you _ever_ call Kylo 'evil'. Not until you've felt what it's like to be _ripped in two_ by the power of Snoke's will. Not until you've been at the point where you would do _anything_ to make it stop. Not until…"

" _Poe_." Leia again, a little firmer this time, but not at all unkind. "It's OK. You made your point."

He falls silent, breathing somewhat ragged. Suddenly aware that he's just tried to rip _Han Solo_ a new one, and wondering if he's even going to live to regret it.

"Now you listen here, you jumped-up, kriffing blaster-fried victory-brat!" Han lunges forwards, ignoring Chewie's protest, going straight into Poe's face and grabbing the front of his shirt. "You think you know what evil is? Really? You think you understand the _Dark_ Side? Maybe my Vader-worshipping son got up in your G-Force-addled brain and made you think he was innocent, but do you know how many people he's killed? Do you?" 

"Yes. I know how many people he's killed," Poe throws back, trying not to flinch when Han grabs hold of him like that. "I've _seen_ more than enough of it. I've seen the massacre at the Jedi Temple, both as an echo in the Force, and as a slew of images pushed vividly, _deeply_ into my mind. I _know_ what he did. He knows what he did. You know what he did. The only difference is, you don't know _why he did it_."

"He did it because he fell to the **Dark Side** , just like Vader did. He did it because he's--" Han's jaw twitches, as he struggles to say the word he wants to.

"Because he's _what_?" Poe retorts. "Go on. Say it again. Keep hiding behind your absolutes because you're _too afraid_ to engage with the truth. Call him evil one more time and I will _lay you out on the duracrete_ , you Force-forsaken _relic_. If you had stood by him instead of running away from him, pushing him away from _you_ , then maybe Snoke wouldn't have been _the only option he had left_. How is it that a lifelong abuse victim and a _Force-less grunt from Yavin_ are the only ones who can see that splitting it all into something so simple as absolute Light and absolute Dark is _precisely_ why things have been so _fucked-up_ for _millennia!_ "

Pause. Breathe. Brace.

Han stares down at the man he's still holding onto, brown eyes wide in shock. "How dare you." He's old, but he's still got strength in his grip, and he looks about ready to punch Poe straight on the jaw. "How dare you talk to me about evil. I saw my son--"

" _Calm down, both of you_ ," Leia cuts in. Somehow she manages to keep her tone level, but it doesn't take a Force-user to see how much emotion is bubbling just beneath the surface. "This gets us nowhere. Han, put my pilot down. Poe… please just take a breath."

"This is why I left," Han snaps, and shoves Poe bodily from him. 

Chewie growls that he doesn't agree with Han.

"Don't you start," he rounds on the Wookiee. "You know what he's done!"

"Han… who is it you're angry with?" Maz asks, stepping closer to him. "Him? Darth Vader? Or yourself?"

"Why the hell did I let myself get tangled up with all this _mumbo-jumbo_ in the first place? Light? Dark? It's all crazy, you're all crazy--" 

"I think it was around the point where you looked at me and said 'I love you'," Leia points out, voice resonant with history. With the weight of memory; a carbonite-freezing chamber, a realisation, an acceptance that changed everything. "When you carried on saying it after you found out – after _we_ found out – who my real parents were."

Han freezes, as solid as if the carbonite were there all over again, his expression agonised. His hands clench into fists by his sides (so like his son, at times, that the echo is uncanny) and his shoulders shake with the effort of keeping it under control.

"Your son," Maz says, gently, "…is as much you as he is Darth Vader, or Anakin Skywalker, or Leia Organa."

The man grinds his teeth so hard his jaw looks like it's trying to vanish into itself. "He wasn't supposed to…"

"To what?" Maz asks. "To break, under an impossible wave? To fight off something neither you, nor Leia, nor Luke himself could push off from him? Han. No one is saying he has done nothing wrong, but you know the passion in him comes as much from _you_ as his grandfather. And you worry that's what made him fall."

"Yeah, well, maybe he'd have been better off without me as his dad." 

"Han," Leia says, gently, "he's spent _far too long_ without you as his dad. What he needs is to have you there again. When we sent him away, when we pushed him away… that's when we lost him. But in the short time he was here… I felt like I got him back again."

Poe, meanwhile, looks like he's one slight nudge away from shattering. The initial wave of long-repressed anger and much more recent terror has subsided in the wake of Leia's interruption, and now he's back to feeling washed-out and exhausted and – if he's being honest – more than a little target-shaped. Much as he's had some less than positive thoughts over recent days with regards to Han Solo's parenting technique… this is _not_ how he wanted their first meeting to go.

"Leia…" Han turns to her, then, and his voice is _wrecked_. "How do you even…? How… after all that _Dark_?" He wants to believe, it's clear, on some level. But he doesn't dare.

Maz looks sadly up at him. "Are you telling me you've never killed in anger, Han? Never done something you regretted? Do you think – once you've done one bad thing – that you can never be any different? You need to forgive him. He was a boy, Han. And he is hurting. And he needs your love to help protect him from that monster who **is** evil." 

"If he was here, still… you'd see," Leia tells Han, reaching for him now. "If you heard him talk about it, even only a little… you'd see. You'd know. And when we get him back… you'll realise that I'm right. That your son, _our_ son, isn't lost to us after all. That he never was."

"It's true," Poe adds, softly. Not sure if he should even speak, now, but needing to do it. "I was terrified by him at first. Of the things he can do. Of the things he _did_ do. But… when I stopped being afraid, and started really _looking_ … I saw who he is under it all. I saw… so much good. Not Light, not Dark, _good_."

"You don't want to admit there's Light, because then your fear and hatred becomes wrong," Maz says, her voice a little distant… reading. "You don't want to admit that you've failed him. You'd rather continue to ignore things than face--"

"Enough," Han says, a hand over his eyes that drags over his face. "I get it. I fucked up. I'm just… how the hell am I supposed to help him? He's a Jedi, and he can't stop it. What in the hell am I supposed to do?" 

"He isn't a Jedi," Poe says, very carefully. "He's a Sith. But… he's a Grey Sith. He's still finding his Balance, but… he's walking the middle line. Light and Dark together. Power and passion, tempered by goodness and self-control."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Han rounds on Poe, but it's with exasperation and not rage. "I don't even know what the hell you're talking about! How am I supposed to be a parent when it's all stuff I can't ever understand?"

"The same way you're a lover, and so is Poe," Maz tells him. "Stop thinking about labels. Stop thinking about power. Start thinking about _love_." And then she looks up to Chewie. "And if I was nine hundred years younger…"

Chewie rumbles something in reply. 

"I'm not trying to pretend it was easy for me to grasp," Poe insists, rather more heartfelt now. "It wasn't. It _isn't_. That world is hard to relate to when you don't walk in it, I know. When you _can't_ ever see it the way they do. But… it can still be done, if you let yourself."

"He's right, Han," Leia says. "So is Maz. And… I think you know that on some level, or you would never have come here. But you did."

"I thought he was already here." Han sounds… beaten when he says that. "And now I find we have to do it all over again. Like it wasn't hard enough the last time." 

Poe bites his lip and doesn't speak, and Leia – evidently sensing it, even though she's not looking right at him – puts a hand on his arm.

"He _was_ already here," Leia reminds him. "He's been gone less than a day. And we have to get him back. And it will not be easy." A sideways glance, now, to the pilot at her side. "But we _will_ do it."

"…and how, exactly, am I supposed to help with that?" Han glances between them. 

Leia meets his eyes. "We need to find Luke. We have part of a map showing where he went, but… it's incomplete. When we find him, when we bring him back into all this… he can go after our son. He can face Snoke, and…"

She's interrupted by a sudden burst of movement from further down the concourse. Turning, Poe immediately sees Rey hurrying down towards them, midway between agitated and simply urgent. Finn is in her wake, and the two of them are being followed – a little further back – by C-3PO, who is calling after them.

"Miss Rey, I really don't think now is the time to barge in. General Solo has been gone a very long time and I simply _cannot_ advise intruding upon the moment, _especially_ considering all that has happened in the last day…"

Rey, for her part, is clearly having none of it, although her steps become a little slower and more careful as she draws close, aware that people are turning to look at her.

Maz looks up with a slow-dawning clarity. "You found her?"

Finn tries to placate the protocol droid, which powers as fast as its servos will allow. "Princ-- General Organa, I must apologise. I did try to explain that this was a _private_ matter." Although it's entirely possible C-3PO is more annoyed that he wasn't invited in the first place. 

Seeing the way Maz is staring at her, Rey stops dead. "Found… who?" she asks, not processing what the other woman is actually saying.

Poe, on the other hand, looks between Maz and Rey, realisation starting to dawn. " _Oh_ ," he breathes. " _That's_ why you're here." This is directed at Maz, whose presence in all this has been confusing him somewhat since the start.

"Wait here," Maz says, and turns around and walks off and onto the freighter.

Han just shrugs. "Damned if I know." 

"What's going on?" Rey asks, directing the question to Leia. "Is this..?" Without waiting for an answer, her eyes go to Han, and to Chewbacca. "3PO said Han Solo was here. Said…" An almost awe-struck expression. "You're him, aren't you?"

"…depends who you're thinking about, kid," Han says, his eyes going sideways to Leia. "Probably not."

Maz comes back out with an oilcloth wrapped around something spherical, and then she moves to stand in front of Rey. "I have something that belongs to you," the short woman says, and opens up the wrap to reveal the lightsabre hilt inside. 

Rey is obviously about to say something else to Han, except she's interrupted when Maz goes and does _that_ , and…

Everything stops. The air takes on that electric edge again – like it did on the _Falcon_ , when Kylo first showed Rey how to use her powers – and Poe can't take his eyes off the two of them. This… is important. More than important. This is _everything_.

For a moment, Rey doesn't move, and then she takes a marked step _back_. Her eyes are haunted, suddenly; her breath shallow. "…That thing… it isn't…"

She obviously wants to touch it. She obviously doesn't dare. For a moment, the young woman is caught on the point of that fulcrum, and then… she steps in once more, reaching out, laying her hand on the bright silver hilt. And the instant she does, it's like a circuit closing. Her fingers snap tightly around it, and she gasps a couple of times before letting go sharply and backing markedly away.

"…I can't. I can't. I…"

Finn steps up to her, a hand on the small of her back. "Rey… it's okay. You heard what Kylo said." He just stands there, a reassuring presence close by. 

"Take it," Maz says. "It calls to you, now. This sabre belonged to Luke Skywalker… and to his father before him. To Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi." 

Rey doesn't move immediately. She's obviously comforted by Finn's presence – the way she glances sideways at him says as much – but it isn't enough to overrule the internal conflict raging behind her eyes.

"…I'm not ready for this," she says, softly. "I can't."

"You're the only one who can," Poe replies, just as softly. "It's why Kylo came to find you. Why… a vision of Anakin Skywalker sent him to you. For whatever reason… you are the one who is meant to do this. And, Rey, I promise… you will not have to do it alone."

She listens, slowly calming, meeting his eyes and holding them as if searching for the truth there. As if… _feeling_ it, not through intrusion, but through sense itself. And then… she nods, moving slowly back to where Maz is standing, the sabre-hilt held in her hands.

Rey holds out a palm… and the hilt jumps to her grip at once, without her needing to reach for it. She looks at the weapon, breathing deeply, shaking, frightened, _understanding_ , and then – aiming it safely into empty space – she thumbs the blade into life.

Vivid blue cuts the air, vibrant and full and stable. A weapon three generations old, and resonant with so much history that the mere sight of it is staggering.

No one can look away. You can't. Not when a lightsabre ignites, and definitely not when this one ignites. There's even a muted 'Oh, my,' from C-3PO. 

Finn grabs her shoulder, and squeezes it just slightly. He doesn't know what to say in this situation: who does? 

"You are both needed," Maz says, with a voice almost… it's difficult to describe the emotion, just that it hits you, when you hear it. "You and Kylo. You are both needed to defeat Snoke. That's why he hasn't managed yet: you're the missing piece." 

And Poe knew that, of course. Kylo knew that. And still, they went without her. The renewed realisation is crushing, and Poe steps back, fighting the urge to run. Fighting the wave of _guilt_ that comes crashing over him again.

"But I'm not ready," Rey whispers, still staring at the lit sabre in something like awe. It isn't even the first lightsabre she's held, but… it's different, of course it's different. This one is hers, now. "I've only been here for a day. Kylo taught me a couple of things, but… just the first steps."

Maz glances up at Poe. "Child… do not blame yourself. The path you are walking is a constant balancing act. You will trip many times, but you will learn to right your step faster with each attempt." 

Then she turns to Rey. "You take that to Luke Skywalker. He will train you. And you will find a way to defeat that monster." 

"We don't know where he is," Rey whispers. "The map we have… it's incomplete."

And that's when there's a burst of beeping and whirring from the direction of the central bunker. Seconds later, BB-8 comes hurtling out of it, spinning and twisting as it comes barrelling down towards the group by the freighter, moving so fast that it keeps having to course-correct to stop itself spiralling out of control.

The little astro skids to a slower pace as it gets closer, whirling around and winding between different members of the group before finally stopping in front of Poe, beeping in frantic excitement.

"What?" Poe exclaims, the string of Binary taking him by surprise. "R2-D2? He's awake? He's _awake?!_ "

" _Luke_ ," Leia breathes, stunned and overjoyed. "We have to go back to the command bunker. We have to see this."

"By the Maker, R2-D2… he always did have a flair for the _dramatic_ ," exclaims the protocol droid. 

"…guess I'm back in the fray after all," Han says, which – to anyone who knows him – is Solo-speak for 'I'm sorry I've been an ass and I'm not able to say sorry'. 

Chewie simply pokes him with his bowcaster.

"All right! All right. Let's see this damned map." 

***

They all head up to the command bunker, going inside and down to the central chamber. The room itself is full, but oddly quiet; everyone clearly aware that the tides are changing right before their eyes.

R2-D2 is waiting in the centre, lit up and flashing and _awake_ , and it's wonderful to see. The rather larger astromech burbles in greeting as they all come rushing in, and at BB-8, as the smaller astro rolls closer to join him.

"Show us," Leia says, a hand on R2's central dome for a moment, before she steps back.

The droid rolls forwards a little, points upwards, and projects a huge map into midair. A map of the whole galaxy, divided into regions… with one section missing. Bleeping excitedly, BB-8 moves in, central dome also arcing upwards as it projects that initial section of map as well, altering the angle to fit the two together, producing one single image.

The galaxy. Their galaxy. And… a line, a route, leading to one world in particular.

Leia turns to Poe. "That planet… it isn't Eigengrau, is it?" She's aware, after all, of the second, false map that BB-8 found alongside the original, and she needs that last flicker of doubt pushing from her mind.

"No," Poe replies. He finds Eigengrau on the map – closer than he expected to the red line's true destination, but not the same place at all. "It's… Ahch-To. The chart identifies it as Ahch-To."

"Luke's there?" Han asks. "We know it?"

"We know it," Leia answers. "We found him."

And the room explodes with cheering, with this moment, this revelation. An old hope, and a new hope.

All around, soldiers and pilots, techies and operators, everyone celebrates. They've been on edge for too long, and – with the exception of the night after they took out the Starkiller – they've had precious few reasons to smile. But they have this. They grab each other, whooping and cheering, hands on shoulders, hugs and handshakes and waved arms.

Rey actually jumps on Poe, hugging him tight. "It's going to be OK," she whispers, where only he can hear. "It's going to be OK." And although the words are obviously meant to convince herself as much as him, it doesn't make them any less important. He hugs her back, finally daring to believe that things might be looking up, and then lets her go, and she immediately turns to Finn.

And… hesitates, like she doesn't quite know what to do. And awkwardly grips his hand. And… smiles a shy little smile that's meant for no one else but him.

Finn, for his sake, grins back and holds on like she's the best thing he's ever held in his life. 

Maz notices, and looks up at Poe, smiling. "I think you and I need to have a little conversation away from everyone else, don't you?" she asks, kindly enough. "Somewhere you feel less ill at ease." 

This takes the pilot by surprise. Some part of him wants to refuse, wants to withdraw, wants to get away from all these people – even though their joy is so hopeful, and so real, and something he'd be right in the midst of were it not for the obvious reason – and some part of him wants to point out to this woman that she doesn't know him, that he can hardly talk to his best friend right now, never mind a near-complete stranger. That…

…that he's unsettled, when she looks into his eyes, because he knows she _sees_ things there.

But, at the same time, something about Maz Kanata makes him want to trust her.

"All right," he concedes. "All right."

Maz tilts her head, and walks off, knowing Poe will follow. She guides him to a small room off to one side. The sounds of celebration and planning still trickle through (how long, how far, you found my _Falcon_?), but are at a remove enough for other conversation to happen.

The small woman turns, and peers up at Poe. 

"You're Bound, aren't you? It's there… or… something is. It is difficult to see. I know you don't use the Force, but you…" a cluck of her tongue. "When did it happen, or was it always this way?" 

Again, her words take him by surprise, and doubly-so this time because he's never – really – had anyone else he can talk to about this besides Kylo. General Organa knows about it, but there are things he simply can't say to her, because Kylo is her son, and the bond is too… intimate.

The pilot bows his head. "Yes," he says, softly. "Yes, we are. It happened… I don't even know for sure. We didn't realise it until after it had snapped the two of us together, but looking back… I felt it sooner. I felt it when we first met, though I had no idea what it was, and… I think I felt it even earlier than that."

He did, didn't he? When he looks back… when he remembers the night before he first went to Jakku… it was there, even then. Not understood, not perceived as anything he could explain, but… it was there. The sense of something more than just himself. The sense of something – someone – out in the black, and the knowledge that the two of them were racing towards each other like ships on an unstoppable collision course.

"Oh, child…" a sad, but happy smile. "No wonder you are hurting so badly. He's blocking the Bond, isn't he? So you don't feel the worst of his pain. But you should know that as long as he's doing that – as long as you feel removed – that he's still fighting for you. But the silence after so much noise must be deafening to you." 

"…Blocking?" Poe whispers. "I… he… he can do that?"

It's never even dawned on him that Kylo could. The bond is something he himself has no control over, so he's never really stopped to consider that Kylo might be able to do more with it. That he might be able to… to…

Poe drops down onto his knees, looking Maz in the eye. All of his walls collapsing again, and he's suddenly, cripplingly, as broken as he gets.

A hand out, reaching for his wrist, offering some small comfort. "He doesn't want you to feel what he feels," Maz says. "And you might think you want to, but I assume it would be worse by far than this numbness, young one. But it's a hope. Even if you can't see it as that. He has enough strength left to keep you shielded from the Darkness that is **evil**. He is protecting you the only way he has left, keeping your Light from going out. You have to keep the Light going in you, so when you see him again you can break him free." 

"I don't know if I can do this," Poe whispers, with a shudder, the words slipping out. "Everything used to be so simple, so clear-cut and obvious to me… and I was just starting to learn what it means to be _this_ instead, and then…"

He bows his head a little. He does not like admitting his weakness. He'll admit it it Kylo, but… doing so for anyone else is not easy, or welcome.

Admitting it to himself is the hardest part of all.

"…I feel like I'm being torn in half," he whispers. "Like part of me is here, and part of me is there, and every second… I'm searching for something that I can't find."

Her hand moves to his shoulder, to the back of his neck, and holds on gently. "You can do this. You have a strength in you, Poe Dameron. You blaze in the Force, and you bend the Light towards you when you walk. You wouldn't have Bound to someone like Kylo Ren if you didn't. You're just as strong as he is, and if he can manage for years not to give in completely, then so can you."

Maz Kanata reaches for the sabre hilt on Poe's hip, and unclips it. She puts it into Poe's hand, and curls his fingers around it. "You have this for a reason: use it. The pull you feel will always be there, to some extent. Anyone who walks between two worlds will always need it, to balance them. To balance the Force. Make your preparations, but know that even if you can't feel your other half, it's out there. It's pulling as hard for you, as you are for it. And when you are back together, you will be unstoppable." 

"How can I use it?" Poe whispers. "I don't have the Force. I'm not a Jedi or a Sith, not _really_. The Grey kind or the absolute one. I'm…"

…just a pilot. Just a pilot who got himself captured. Who broke, twice. Who messed-up the bombing run that should have been his moment of glory. Who took the love of his life back to the most heinous monster alive. Who turned tail and _left him behind_. Who…

…survived. Survived Eigengrau, without the Force. Who kept the map to Skywalker from the First Order's hands. Who led the Resistance to Starkiller Base, to destroy it before a single world could be harmed. Who brought together – through choice and through fate – the greatest heroes the galaxy has ever known.

Balance. In all things.

He takes a deep breath.

"I'm scared," he admits, softly. "Scared that I'm a liability to everyone here. Scared that Snoke can get into my head, through Kylo. Scared that he has. Scared that he _is_. Scared that nothing I do is secret anymore."

"You do not need the Force to wield that weapon, Poe. And your own heart is a stronger tool by far. Your love will be what keeps you going, and your love will save you both." She smiles. "It's why I could never be a Jedi, either. You will wield both, and you will save him, and he will save you, and you will do great things… _together_. You give him what he lacks, and he gives you what you lack. That's what it means to be a whole."

Maz considers it for a moment. "They say fear leads to the Dark Side, but it is not true. Fear is a natural response, when things are dangerous. You use it to keep yourself safe, and – like love – it is right. It is when you allow it to _control_ you, instead of **guide** you that it becomes a problem. And a lover, even without the Force, can know you. It's trusting that they will keep their knowledge of you safe that allows you to be open, and vulnerable. And allows you to be loved." 

Head cocked. "Would you rather you had never loved him, at all? Would you give up this feeling, now. This pain, fear, and guilt… if it meant you lost the other things, too?" 

" _No_ ," Poe insists, voice full of agony. "I regret nothing. None of it. Not a single second."

Of this, he is sure, certain, adamant.

"I would die before I gave him up. I would die _rather_ than give him up."

"Then you must know he feels precisely the same way about you. It's why you're here, and safe. And it's why I know when you meet him again, you will pull him back. He will never hurt you, Poe. It would be worse than injuring himself. The pain you are feeling is not permanent, and you will see one another again. The Force flows through everything, through _all_ of us. And although you can't see it, or control it, you must **feel** it." 

Poe nods, not quite trusting himself to speak straight away. _Feel_. He does feel. He feels _too much_. He feels like he needs to run. To scream. To charge out into the forest until exhaustion is the only thing stopping him. To push everyone away from him, so they don't talk to him, don't touch him, don't look him in the eyes and know what he did.

But… he feels other things, too. The way Snap waited outside that door in the med-bay, desperate to come check on him. The way Leia wrapped him into a hug, rather than giving him the dressing-down he'd been so sure was coming. The way people have been contriving reasons all morning to drop by, not intruding, just… keeping him going.

He nods again. "Getting him back is all that drives me, now. Everything I do… is to that end."

"You are stronger and braver by far than you will ever give yourself credit for, young one. To face someone with a blaster, or a sabre, takes courage in your skill. To face someone with your heart is by far the harder challenge. To go to war, when you know you fight something so strong, but so… essential to be fought…" A flicker of old pain, and a little bow of her head. 

"I will teach you something. It may help, it may not. I am no Master, but I have seen many in my years. Will you allow me to?" 

"Of course," Poe answers, at once. "Anything. Anything that could help, I will try it. I will _do it_."

"Close your eyes," she says, her own, smaller ones closing, too. "Listen to my voice. I want you to imagine a doorway. The door is shut, and underneath it you can see the Darkness seeping out. You know that behind the door is everything that is bad. Everything that can harm you. Everything that is dangerous… do you see the door?"

The pilot does as he's told, closing his eyes, letting the images slowly coalesce in his mind, and…

It's the door on the _Decimator_. The door that leads to…

…no, no, concentrate. He changes it in his mind, letting the door become something else, some _where_ else. Somewhere abstract, that he can focus on. Somewhere older. And…

…Now the door he sees is not one that exists in reality. But it looks very much like it could have been somewhere on Eigengrau.

"Yes. Yes. I see the door."

"You go up to the door. The handle is heavy, and it is cold. You put your warm hand on the handle, and you feel it seep the heat from your skin, but you know you must open it. You press down on the handle, and the mechanism moves. You open the door, but behind it, there is Light. In the middle of the Dark, a small flash of Light."

Poe's breath catches. He sees it.

"You walk through the Darkness, through it. Each step is heavy, and your clothes are wet and cold. You keep walking, and the whispers and the hands reach for you, but you can still see the Light. You walk towards it, and the Light grows brighter. It grows stronger. You walk towards it, and you find another door. This one is heavier, and when you touch the handle it is colder, still. You press down as hard as you can, because you know what's on the other side. You know what's on the other side, because it is that place that you felt safe. It is the place where you felt loved. It is the place you need to be…" 

The pilot's brow creases in concentration, in pain, the imagined darkness and coldness everything he is feeling right now, and all made manifest. He keeps going, though, knowing he can't stop, knowing he can't let the Darkness hold him back, until he feels himself push that second, mental door open.

Until he sees what's beyond.

It's the oasis, on Eigengrau. It's bathed in moonlight, the air cool, the gentle breeze rustling through the branches of the trees, through the soft grass. He can hear the rush of the waterfall, the ripple of the lake, all of it as if he was actually there right now… there, in that place, where his whole world changed.

He gasps, softly, and not in pain.

He'd give anything to be back there, right now. Back there, with Kylo, still and quiet and safe.

"This place, this Light, it is inside of you," Maz says, her voice kind and caring. "It is where you are safe, and where you can go, whenever you feel the Dark is becoming too strong. You keep walking until you find it. You keep walking until you're at the door. You don't listen to the voices – to the things they say – you know you understand happiness, and you know you will never lose this place within you." 

Poe nods, tears pricking at his eyes, his control threatening to waver, but never quite slipping all the way. "Thank you," he whispers. "I… will try. I will hold on."

It feels impossible, right now. But, at the same time… he has to believe that it isn't.

"Take a moment, before you rejoin the others. This is not easy for any of us, and you are doing this without the Force at your fingertips. You are braver than you know, Poe. Braver even than some of us who should have known better." 

Her wrist jangles when she steps back. "Gather yourself slowly, and then come through with us. And remember that room – that place – when everything seems darkest, and you think there is no hope. Remember it, and return to it." 

And Maz, sensing he needs some time alone, quietly leaves. 

When she's gone, the room is silent and still. Poe doesn't move, remaining where he is, on his knees, head a little bowed. The tumult raging within his mind is unceasing, unabating, but – even if only for a moment – he feels as though he's right at the centre of it, now. In the eye of the storm. Held by it, caught by it, defined by it, but… separate from it.

A man in an oasis, the cares and pains of the world not gone, not lessened, but… ever-so-slightly distant.

He can do this. He has to believe he can do this. Has to believe he has the strength, the _passion_ , to…

The words come unbidden, ancient yet new to him, timeless yet now, belonging to a world he can't walk in, yet is part of all the same.

_"Peace is a lie, there is only passion;_   
_Through passion, I gain strength;_   
_Through strength, I gain power;_   
_Through power, I gain victory;_   
_Through victory, my chains are broken;_   
_The Force shall free me."_

He pauses, feeling the weight of the words in the air, and the weight of the tiny, yet essential change he needs to make to them.

_"The Force shall free **us**."_

Deep breath. Deep. Sure. Certain.

Poe Dameron rises to his feet, opens the door, and steps out into the storm.


	33. The Last Jedi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations, readers! It's updateathon time! Starting today, we'll be posting a chapter a day all the way through to Monday, as we bring you through the next big arc of this story.
> 
> And when we say big, we mean _big_. We can't wait to share it with you. Getting here has been quite a ride, as you'll soon see.
> 
> So... are you sitting comfortably? Let us begin...

The _Millennium Falcon_ hurtles through hyperspace.

Its destination: Ahch-To, the planet where – if the map is correct – they'll find Luke Skywalker. After all this time… it might actually be happening.

Han Solo and Chewbacca are at the controls. Poe didn't even contemplate questioning this. There's borrowing the ship when its owner hasn't seen it for years, and then there's trying to interfere when the man finally has it back, and there is simply no way Poe would ever do that, no matter how much he loved flying it.

Rey and Finn are aboard too, though Poe isn't quite sure where they've gone. He'd like to imagine they're off having a heart-to-heart about their obvious feelings for each other, but it's just as likely that Rey has gone to tinker with some part of the ship and Finn is watching and helping with that oh-so-drawn look in his eyes.

Young people.

And… then there's BB-8, and R2-D2. 3PO hasn't come with them – much to his obvious chagrin – which means that the two astromechs are off in a corner, bleeping away to each other. It's weirdly adorable even if you just look, but it gets even better if you speak Binary, because Poe can hear BB-8 asking R2 all about his adventures, whirling with excitement when R2 describes the Death Star trench run, or the day they rescued Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt. Even when he decries how unpleasant the weather was on Dagobah.

Sitting at the inactive holotable, Poe smiles at the snippets of droidly discussion he catches. He's otherwise alone right now, by choice, but he feels calmer since his conversation with Maz Kanata, and it's a feeling he's trying very, very hard to hold on to.

Eventually (probably convinced by a very tall Wookiee) the Captain of the _Falcon_ wanders into the small break area. He's not normally seen without Chewie, and he has his hands slung – thumbs into pockets – swaggering and resolutely not looking at Poe.

"So." Not helpful. But it tests the waters, if nothing else. 

Oh… fuck. Poe has been hoping against hope that this wouldn't happen. He just about managed to have this conversation with Leia, thanks to their strong working relationship and her level head. He does not know how he can possibly have it with Han, who he only just met and who he had a very public shouting-match with almost immediately afterwards.

He tries not to look target-shaped. It is extraordinarily difficult.

"…General Solo."

"Drop the 'General', kid." Han lifts a hand, waving it dismissively. "Never liked the damn title when they tried pinning it on me the first time. Sure as hell don't want it back, now." 

"I… right. Yes. Sorry."

How do you make small talk with Han Solo? Even without the previous blazing row? You just… don't.

"Look. I'm…" Han clearly is half the cause of Kylo's inability to easily voice his thoughts and feelings, if the constipated expression is any evidence. "We got off on a… bad… foot. Leia tells me you're, uh, her best pilot? Dameron… huh. Guess it runs in the family." 

"I learned from the best," Poe answers, thinking of his mother for a second. And… "…My father always used to say you were the best leader he ever had. That they would never have won the war without you."

"Yeah, if he said that, he's mistaking me for my wife," Han says, with a slight flush. "More luck than anything got us out of half the scrapes we got into. Sometimes I wonder how we managed to win the damn thing anyway." 

He rocks his weight from heel to toe, then back. "I know you're gonna hate me for what happened to Ben. But I can assure you… ain't no one who hates me more for that than me." Which is uncharacteristically open of him. "No one tells you what to do with a kid who can…" a hand gesture, indicating everything involved the Force, and none of it, all at once. 

"I can only imagine," Poe replies, levelly. Understandingly. Because, whilst he does think that Han dealt with it all wrong, he also knows that it's easy to just stand back and say that. Easy to judge in hindsight, when you weren't the one there, in the middle of it all. "Dealing with Force-using adults is challenging enough."

"Tell me about it." The voice of a man whose wife, best-friend and brother-in-law and father-in-law (also torturer) were Force-users, on top of his only son. It's strained, and it's clear it's really been a problem for him. "We just wanted to stop him going all Vader. But even the Jedi Council didn't manage that with _Vader_." It isn't an excuse, but it is an explanation, of a sorts. "Not like I could take away the Force every time he did something bad. Might have made it easier if I could." 

"…He's not the man you think he is," Poe says, after a pause. "Kylo… he's been fighting an inner battle between Light and Dark for too long. But… there's _so_ much good in him, underneath it all, _despite_ it all, and he…"

Another pause, and a little bow of the head. "It's why I fell in love with him." The lust part is easier to explain, at least to himself, given all the hot, violent, Force-fuelled sex. But the _love_ is so much deeper.

Han winces at the name, clearly still thinking of him as Ben, and Ben alone. It's a hard thing to face up to, and not to associate it with all the evil he's done. "Maybe you're right. But what's to say he won't just…" Jaw tightening. "What's to stop him doing it all over again? He's back with him, right now. Who knows what he's doing. And if it isn't Snoke… then it'll be some other asshole with a lust for lightning." 

Poe feels suddenly cold. "Do you even know what Snoke did to him?" he asks, softly. Not accusatory, not inflammatory, just… asking. "Do you… do you realise what he went through? Yes, the path he's walking isn't easy, but… without Snoke there to drip poison in his ear, things will be different."

"If you know my son, you know he's not exactly Mr Forthcoming. And neither am I. All that Force crap… his mother handled that. And he made it pretty much known that I was about as helpful as a hyperdrive on a protocol droid, kid. You've seen it from his point of view, but what the hell did he expect _me_ to do, when I couldn't understand a damn thing that was going on in that head of his?" His tone strains further, eyes borderline furious. "Leia didn't even tell me about Snoke until he'd already been talking to my kid for _years_. So no. I don't know. Because no one bothered to tell me." 

Fuck. That's just… fuck.

There is no way Poe is the right person to do this. No way at all. It should be Leia. Han's wife. Kylo's mother. It should be her who tells Han the truth about what happened to his son.

Only… she didn't. She _hasn't_. Even now, after everything that's happened, after Han came back… it's clear that he still doesn't know the truth of it all.

"I… am overstepping terribly by telling you this," Poe says. "But… you need to know, need to understand, and if no one else has done it, then I guess I'm the only one left. Snoke… got into Kylo's head from a very early age. I don't know precisely when – I'm not even sure if he does – but it was long, long before you sent him to train with Master Skywalker. Snoke…"

Even saying his name is painful, and the word tastes like ash and bitter poison on Poe's lips. But… he has to do this.

"…Snoke tugged at the Darkness within Kylo. The… pull of the Dark Side. He made him think he could never be good, never be Light, so being Dark was his only option. He made him want it, made him…" fuck, fuck, fuck, "… _enjoy_ it. He kept pulling at Kylo's needs, his desires, his fears, until the only thing that made any sense to him was giving in to the Darkness that Snoke had stoked at his core. He thought he was irredeemable. Lost. He thought… he had no choice but to be what Snoke was making him."

Han swallows, his throat working over – over words he isn't saying. Over a lot. He looks _agonised_. Clearly he's suspected a lot, but he's never – how do you approach it? How in the Force do you come to terms with the fact that your kid, who happens to be pretty much psychic and magic, who can do things you can't, is suffering something he can't stop, you can't stop, and _he won't even tell you_? "I…"

His hand goes half-way to his blaster, the urge old and unconscious. The survival of a smuggler, of a Captain, pilot, General… useless, against the incorporeal, and the way his hand grasps at the air shows his utter sense of _helplessness_. "He… he wouldn't talk to me. He just… he went further into himself. I tried, but I figured it was Force-crap. Stuff I couldn't get. I mean, I got angry when he-- but I wasn't…" Han turns and **punches** the bulkhead. He's not known for actual aggression (not like this, the rumours are all about his quick tongue and trigger finger), but there's nothing for him to snipe or shoot at right now. 

"I _tried_ to talk to him, but I didn't know what the hell to say to him, not any more. He went from… he went from being so alive to being half-dead. And when he wasn't dead, he was **angry** , and I-- damnit, Leia, why didn't she tell me what was going on?" 

"To begin with, I don't think she realised the extent of it either," Poe answers. "Or… she thought it was something that Skywalker's Jedi training would overcome, that Kylo would settle, once he found the Light, and it would all be OK. And then… I don't know. She was afraid. And fear… is a terrible thing."

"The hell did that bastard do to my _son_?" Han snarls, turning back with full, paternal fury on his face. "Who does that to a **kid**? Isn't it enough they have to deal with all that mumbo-jumbo crap, but then some asshole starts…" 

If he weren't aboard his own ship, he might well be shooting his blaster, right about now. 

Poe's expression darkens. "Snoke is a _monster_. He worked away at Kylo for years, pretty much for _ever_. There is no one alive or dead who could resist such constant manipulation. He made Kylo believe that he was wicked, that he was evil, that he was Dark, and that nothing could change it. That the only option was to give in to it, to _become_ it. That… the terrible things he did felt _good_. That he _wanted_ them."

The thoughts make Poe feel sick to his core. To do that to anyone is heinous. To do it to a _child_ is abhorrent. Even Darth Sidious himself waited until Anakin Skywalker was a _man_ before making his move. And it's a warped world indeed when _Darth Sidious_ seems like the _better_ option of two.

"…and… how…" Han wants to ask, but he's clearly afraid to, although he isn't sure what could be worse. "Did he tell you? How…" How do you know? And how is he even able to break out of it? His eyes plead with the younger man for answers, for… hope. 

"He told me some of it," Poe answers. "The rest…"

He gets up, now, rising from where he's been curled on the seat behind the holotable, pacing across the open floor. Needing some small outlet for the energy rising in his blood.

"…I don't know how much of this you _have_ been told," he starts out, "so forgive me if I am repeating things you already know. I also…" and here he has the good grace to blush a little, "…don't remember everything I said to you when you first arrived on D'Qar." A fair chunk of that whole encounter is just a haze, the trauma in his mind keeping him from holding onto it.

Pause. Breathe. "Your son and I are Force-bound. It's what pulled us together in the first place, though we didn't understand it straight away. _I_ certainly didn't. When we're close together, we can communicate without speaking out loud. I don't even _know_ why it works for me, because I'm not Force-sensitive. People keep telling me I'm 'bright' in the Force, so I guess that how Force-sensitives perceive me, but… well. I don't pretend to understand it, but it is true."

"We spent several days alone together on a planet called Eigengrau. I won't go into all the details of it now, but suffice it to say… there was an ancient Sith temple there, built millennia ago to train a new Sith Order. Grey Sith. In touch with the Dark, but tempered by the Light. The temple put us through a series of trials, designed to test acolytes' worthiness to be part of the new order. In the last of them… we experienced powerful, vivid nightmares. Memories of our childhood, and then… possible futures that we feared. I… saw snippets of Kylo's childhood in there. I saw him, I saw General Organa, I saw… I saw you. Things that happened. All true, he told me afterwards. I… saw the massacre, at the Jedi temple, and… through our bond… I _felt_ it, too."

There's more to it than this, of course. What he saw and felt on Eigengrau was a collection of snippets, images and flickers and flashes. Accurate, but incomplete. It wasn't until the _Decimator_ , until Snoke pushed into his head, that the details began to emerge.

But, this part… Poe cannot say out loud. Not now.

"I can't tell you everything he has felt, everything he has done. But what I can tell you is that the _regret_ he feels burns so hot in him, it was an almost-constant agony until he finally managed to process it. He thought he was irredeemable. He thought… he couldn't ever come back from what he'd done. But, in that temple – with Snoke blocked from his head for the first time that he could even remember – he learned to think for himself again. He… _did_ come back from it. Slowly. He did."

"That bastard… never left his head?" Han asks, and there's no colour at all in his face, now. "Not since… not ever? He's been hurting my boy… for **years**?" 

It's a horrible truth for anyone to come to terms with. For a parent, it must be heartbreaking. Poe nods. "For years, yes," he says, quietly. Wishing he didn't have to inflict this on the man. Knowing that he needs to nonetheless.

Han Solo, hero of the Rebellion, wife of Leia Organa, and he looks like he's two inches tall. He walks over to Poe, grabs his shirt, looks about ready to shake him. To demand something, some answer, some… "You've been in his head? You've… you've seen it?" A crack, audible, in his voice. "You know he wants to come home?" 

The sudden hands on Poe make him jump, the _contact_ still a little too much for him, especially so sharp and unfamiliar. But he doesn't fight it, doesn't resist, doesn't protest. He just stares back at Han, eyes full of honesty.

"Yes," he answers. Soft, sure, certain. "He was terrified by the thought, terrified he'd be hated, feared, locked up. Terrified that everyone he ever knew would be revulsed by him. He couldn't _let_ himself want it, because he thought it could never happen, but he _did_ want it all the same. And… the day I brought him back… the one glorious day we got to spend together on D'Qar, he…"

Poe's breath catches, pain flooding unbidden and unstoppable to his whole expression. "…He knew he _had_ come home. He _was_ home."

Han notices the flinch, and his eyes flicker to his hand, then he lets go. It's clear he's still out of his depth, and he doesn't know what he should do, or say. "How… how did you get him home? All I know is Maz hails me, tells me to get her, and I'm being kidnapped to D'Qar. I heard there was some big explosion, some First Order world went up, but…" His eyes narrow. "…you did that. Didn't you?" 

"…We did that." Poe takes a step back, needing the space, but not truly retreating. "The First Order had built a new superweapon. Starkiller Base. A whole planet, fitted with the destructive capability to wipe out a whole system with one shot. It would have made the Death Star seem weak in comparison. I took the plans back to the Resistance, and Kylo stayed _on_ the thing, ready to bring the shields down when we made our attack. It worked. It worked, and we destroyed it. The plan was supposed to be that Kylo would go after Snoke once that happened, but… I got shot down during the assault."

Hubris. Carelessness. Or… possibly just bad luck.

"So instead, he came to get me, and – with his cover blown – I flew us both back to D'Qar with the rest of my squadron. He was afraid. They were afraid. But… we made it right."

"He came to get you? And how in the hell did you fly back in an X-W… ah. Those TIEs we saw. Interceptors, right?" Though Han's relaxing a little, clearly… clearly a flicker of pride in the idea that his son did that. Even Dark as he is. "Damn Imperials are always building death balls. You'd think they'd learn their lesson and hide it in something square, but no…" 

Poe can't help the tiniest smile at this. Han does have a certain… way with words.

"It was an Interceptor, yes. Built for two, and equipped with a hyperdrive. Your son may not be a pilot, but he knows ships. He managed to fly that one out to where I'd ditched, and then I flew us home in it. After we'd done a few bombing runs of our own. Kylo's a damn good shot."

"…he can fly a frakking TIE, but he can't fly this beauty?" Han sounds utterly betrayed. Utterly, devastatingly. "I knew he could shoot, but…" a shake of his head. "I've seen him fly. You're lucky he didn't take your head off." 

"…He can't exactly fly a TIE, either," Poe has to say. "It was… I think he did more than a little of it just by using the Force. He only risked trying it because… he was so desperate to save me."

"…well I guess that's something," Han grunts. "How he can't do it, I'll never understand. Even Vader could fly. You'd think he was dropped on his head, or something. So you… blew the damn thing up, and took him home, and then…?" 

There's a slight flush to Poe's cheeks at that, because the answer to this question is actually something along the lines of 'and then we had very loud sex in the forest where a lot of people could hear us, and then we had _very_ involved sex in bed for the first time, and then in the morning we had very _damp_ sex in the shower, and _then_ we had sex all over the cockpit of the shuttle your wife loaned to us. Whilst some poor radio operator could hear, on account of the part where either your son or I managed to unmute the signal midway through him fucking my brains out in orbit.'

But it would be unwise to say these things, it really would, and also it hurts to think about them, so – other than that slight flush to his cheeks – Poe does not let on what he's thinking.

"…Then he talked to his mother for a while, and they worked some things out. And… then, the next morning, we went back to Jakku, because…"

Deep breath.

"…Because Kylo had a vision of Anakin Skywalker telling him to 'find the girl' and he knew it was someone whose presence he'd sensed whilst he was on Jakku the first time. So… we went to look for her… and we found Rey."

"…Force visions, huh. Those are always fun." Han does not comment on the way Poe's tone goes a little strange before that. Some things are better left very much unsaid. "And then you went and… Snoke. Again." 

Head tilted upwards, looking to some Maker, spirit, or something to make the next part not real. "Luke did something similar, you know. Got us all worried. Nearly died. They had to save his ass from the bottom of Cloud City. My son ever tell you that? Hanging from a spike. Only 'cause Leia felt it that they got him in time." Head back down. "But they got him. And we're gonna get Ben back." 

Poe has heard the stories. Not from Kylo, but he's heard them. _That_ day. The day Luke Skywalker confronted Darth Vader, and… OK, don't think about it. The connotations do not help.

"Yes. Then we went after Snoke. Intel was leaked, giving away the position of his ship. It was most assuredly a trap. Kylo couldn't wait for the Resistance to come up with a plan of attack… especially when it looked like they might _not_ attack… so… we went on our own."

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And it still feels as though it was all his fault, even though Poe knows – rationally – that Kylo would have found another way to get there if it had come to it. And… he'd have had to face Snoke thinking that Poe had abandoned him. And…

…Maybe it was just the least-bad option in a very bad hand. The worst.

"Snoke almost killed me. Or… worse. Kylo saved my life. But… I couldn't get him out. I couldn't get him out."

A hand on his arm, this time, a less threatening gesture, and only a brief pat at that. "They came to get me, and I was a frelling caf-table, kiddo. And we got Leia out from the Death Star. Via a trash compactor. We'll get him back."

They always did, didn't they? A wince. "…I just… I just wish we'd got you sooner. Maybe you coulda talked sense into him, or… I dunno. Listened to him more. But we got you, now." 

"…Yeah. You got me now. And whatever it takes to get your son back… I will do it."

Quite how he's gotten himself half-adopted by the Organa-Solos, Poe isn't quite sure. But if even Han is begrudgingly admitting to wanting him around… that has to be a good sign.

"I know… I know you must think I'm…" a sad smile. "Less impressive in person. But I never really signed up for this gig. Not like Leia, not like Luke. I always got dragged around after them, chasing them from adventure to adventure. Maybe if I'd stopped pretending I didn't like it, Ben wouldn't be with that asshole right now. Maybe he would." 

A shrug. "When we – when we see him. When we get him home… you do me one thing, and I'll make damn sure you never go wanting for anything. You just…" Han's lips shake, forming words behind, then surrendering them to his tongue, over and over. "You… keep him home, yeah? You… do what we couldn't." 

"…You're not less impressive in person," Poe tells him, opting to risk the honesty. "You're just… more human. All those stories from the Rebellion… I grew up on them, remember. And… as for Kylo… you can bet your ass I won't let him go again, once we get him back. You can bet _this ship_ I won't let him go again."

"Still, didn't like being a war hero then, sure as hell don't like it any more, now," Han grumbles. "You're… an okay kid, I guess. Gotta be, if Leia likes you." This is Han for 'you will do'.

And Poe decides to take it as a good sign. And he's just trying to work out what in the Force you say to Han Solo _after_ he's told you that when there's a sudden shout – in Wookiee – from the cockpit. Poe doesn't understand the words, but he does understand the quick, controlled judder of the _Falcon_ dropping out of hyperspace, which can only mean one thing.

They've arrived.

***

The planet known as Ahch-To glitters in the light of its sun as the _Millennium Falcon_ dips down through the atmosphere. Much of the surface is covered by seas, but little islands dot the blue, arranged into clusters and archipelagos.

It is to one such collection of islands that the _Falcon_ travels, putting down on the only stretch of flat land large enough to accommodate it, right on the shore. Above them, the island towers: a high, green spire, reaching towards blue skies.

Leaving the two droids to watch the ship, the rest of the group sets out: Rey, Finn, Poe, Han, Chewbacca. They've got a steep walk ahead of them, but the air is cool, and the sun still high above the distant waves.

"This way," Rey tells them. Precisely how she knows where they're going is unclear, but… she does.

The Force, Poe is sure.

"Couldn't he have stayed somewhere warmer, somewhere with nice, sandy shores? A bar?" Han is moody as they approach the steps. "No, it's not because I'm old," he snaps at Chewie. 

Finn looks torn. He bounces between Poe and Rey, not wanting either of them to feel too left out, and clearly struggling to understand why he's even here. 

"You sure you don't want to drop a ladder down from the ship?" the ex-trooper asks.

Chewie's answer – for those who catch it – is very much not polite.

"Luke would pitch a fit if we did that," Han explains. 

"It won't be too far," Rey insists, brightly. "Come on."

Of course, she _has_ spent her life running around Jakku, and as such is used to strenuous physical activity. It certainly shows in the way she bounds off, full of hope and apprehension.

The others follow along behind. It's a steep climb, no doubt about it, sometimes over rough ground, and sometimes following the path of ancient-looking steps, leading them ever-higher.

"Damn Jedi never just want to meet in a cantina anymore," Han complains. "And yes, I remember the last time I met one in a cantina. And no, that wasn't the worst time, either," he says, before Chewie can get a word in edgeways.

"Mr. Solo, Sir," Finn says, another one who barely seems out of puff with the climbing. "Did you really know him?"

"Who?"

Finn makes eyes up the path.

"…the pilot?"

"Luke! Luke Skywalker."

"Son, I'm married to his sister, the hell do you think?"

Finn blushes. "Sorry."

"When we get up there, you can ask him all the dumb questions you want. He'll probably give you some Force-crap answer, though."

Chewie says Han is being unfair.

Solo snorts. "Well, when you go missing for fifteen years, you deserve a little interrogation." 

A little further up the path, Poe catches enough of this to realise that maybe this reunion is going to be somewhat tumultuous, where Han is concerned. That's assuming Luke Skywalker is even here, of course.

Rey clearly thinks he is. She's still at the head of the group, moving with a lightness that seems to be without end. The sabre-hilt that Maz Kanata gave her is at her hip, glinting whenever it catches the sun, and…

…and Poe wonders what it must be like, to be given such a thing. Not just any sabre, but the blade of Anakin Skywalker. Of Luke Skywalker. A weapon in whose very glow is written the recent history of the galaxy itself.

They climb higher. And higher, past old, stone structures empty of life, yet whispering with ancient secrets. Higher still, almost to the very top, to a place where the path opens out onto a stretch of grassy hillside, unscalable spires off to the right, and…

Rey stops dead.

There's a figure up ahead of them. Cloaked in brown. Facing away.

"Moof-milker," Han calls out. "You forgot to leave a forwarding address. Do you know how many Life Day cards I have sitting in the _Falcon_?"

The figure turns, two hands (one organic, one bionic) pushing down the hood to reveal a man who looks older than he has any right to, swaddled in a beard and sadness. But he smiles, ever so slightly, when he sees them.

"You never write cards, Han."

"Maybe I started." 

Chewie points out that Han is a dirty liar. 

A pause, and then Han walks up and pulls Luke into a hug, clapping his back. There's a soft noise of inaudible conversation, and then they break.

Luke turns to Rey. "I am pleased to meet you, Rey." 

She looks startled. Stunned. Like her mind can't quite process that this is happening. For a moment, Rey doesn't move, and then she steps forward. "I'm… pleased to meet you too," she answers. Obviously not at all sure what you're supposed to say when you come face to face with the galaxy's greatest living legend.

Poe, meanwhile, hangs back. His mind is a tumult of emotions, all of a sudden, and he doesn't want to put himself in a position where they might be pushed to the fore.

Luke Skywalker. Hero of the Rebellion. Destroyer of the Death Star. Jedi Knight. Jedi Master. Galactic saviour.

Poe may have seen him a couple of times from afar as a child, but this is – obviously – the first time he's been so close. It ought to be incredible. Awe-inspiring. But… amidst everything else, all he can see is the man who didn't save Kylo. And it feels like a betrayal to even think such a thing of such a person.

But… he does. Which is why he hangs back.

Luke's attention lingers on her for a moment longer, then he greets Chewie fondly, then Finn, and finally he looks to Poe. "I see you brought my nephew's sabre," he says, to the pilot. 

…Well, damn.

Deep breath. "I did. He was taken from me. I'll carry this until I get him back."

Not accusatory. Not hostile. Level.

He's dreamed his whole life of meeting this man. This is not how he thought it would go.

"We'll bring him home," Luke replies, voice… a little strained, eyes a little sad. "That's why I called you here, at last. All of you."

"Would it have killed you to use a comm like a normal person?" Han rolls his eyes.

Luke ignores him. "Rey, you have a lot of training to do. Maz gave you the sabre?" 

"She did," Rey answers, reaching for the hilt, unclipping it, lifting it. "And I'm ready. Ready to learn the ways of the Force. Ready… for what you have to teach me."

There's a silent pleading in her eyes. A desperation for answers, for clarity. A young woman thrown into something so much bigger than herself, and needing so very badly to live up to it.

"I'll teach you all I can," Luke says, which is a Jedi way of answering. "And then we'll rid the galaxy of Snoke, for once and for all."

"Luke…" Han demands his attention, voice… tight.

"It's all right, Han. It's going to be all right."

"Yeah. Okay. I take it you want a lift home?" 

Luke smiles – very briefly – and nods. "Yes. Yes, please. I do."

"Good thing we brought the _Falcon_. Couldn't have you travelling in anything less than style." 

***

Han and Chewie stay in the cockpit when they're en route. There's probably no reason for it, other than space. Finn and Poe sit behind the holotable, watching as the Jedi and his new Padawan train. R2-D2 insists on being present, but says nothing after the first – brief – conversation with Luke. BB-8 presses into Poe's leg, and purrs occasionally. 

"My nephew gave you some instruction already, didn't he?" Luke asks. 

"He did," Rey answers. "He showed me how to sense things, how to… catch moving objects with the Force. And…"

She doesn't give voice to the rest, but Poe – at least – knows what it is that the young woman isn't saying. 'He taught me how to resist an assault on my mind'. Though Poe can't help thinking that Skywalker knows this anyway. Even for a Force-user, his senses seem preternatural.

"…You know he's… not a Jedi anymore?" she adds, cautiously.

"He stopped being a Jedi the day his name changed," Luke replies, very diplomatically. "Though he stopped being what he became _then_ not very long ago."

The Jedi Master bows his head for a moment, lost in thought. "Calm was never Ben Organa-Solo's focus point, but it can be yours. Serenity. Peace. _Patience_. You know patience better than most." 

He turns to the two at the holotable. "Please. Empty your pockets onto the table."

Finn glances at Poe, but does as he's told. 

"Rey, I would like you to lift those items up." 

"I… all right," she says, perhaps a little surprised by this. She stands just back from the holotable, looking at the things on it, seemingly considering them, and then…

Her eyes flicker, a moment of concentration, of reaching out, her pupils seeming to sharpen somewhat as she focuses. Nothing happens to begin with, and then – perhaps in echo of a gesture she might previously have seen from Kylo – she reaches out a hand, and…

…Still nothing. Rey bites her lip. Her brow creases just slightly. And… the collection of objects slowly start to rise into the air, shaky but not falling again.

"Good," his voice says. "Try to hold them still. Try to imagine… a lake. A lake under a blue sky. It's still, because there's no wind to move it. It's still, and it reflects the sky above, perfectly. You can't see where one ends, and one begins…" 

Rey nods. The objects waver a little when she does, but at the same time… it's almost as though they're nodding with her. And then she concentrates again, the objects levelling out, becoming more and more steady, a sense of calm crossing her face.

Her hand turns, palm upwards now, and everything stabilises.

Poe leans forward, watching intently. It's fascinating to witness. It also doesn't take an expert to see why this kind of thing never worked for Kylo.

"Let them slowly spin," Luke's voice instructs. "All in unison, like planets orbiting their sun. Let them swirl slowly around, slower than the blood that pulses through your body… let them move at your command…" 

Finn, too, is captivated. But all he's watching is Rey's face. He's caught by the expression of calm, the slight pleasure he can see suffusing through her.

Another nod, and this time the objects stay level. Rey stares at them, her eyes tracking over each one as if memorising shape, position, even weight. She breathes, in, out, in, and then raises her other hand – the first remaining as it, is, outstretched, palm upwards – and gives a little gesture, as if nudging the objects into motion.

She is a pilot, after all. A pilot, and a mechanic, and her world is tactile. This, at least, Poe can understand.

In front of Rey, the objects begin to spin, each one on its own axis, gradual, careful. A pause, as she watches them, considering them, and then… another little gesture, and… they slowly start to orbit each other, a tiny system in microcosm, intricate and beautiful.

Rey smiles, just slightly.

"Good," Luke says. "But life will not always be calm. You must learn to keep your head around chaos." And this is when he walks straight into the orbiting circles, right in the middle of their paths. His sabre flicks up and into life, ready to start his own dance through the objects. 

This obviously takes her by surprise, the objects wobbling in response, though Rey doesn't lose control of them, nor their motion, opening up her arms to make the system more expansive. Determined to keep it going.

And Poe, for his part, is suddenly captivated by that sabre. By the bright, green glow filling the room, by…

_…a flash in his head. A memory. Kylo's words._

_"Did you ever wonder what colour your lightsabre would have been?"_

_Eigengrau. The Force-lightning room. His answer._

_"Green."_

His mind jolts back to the present, and he tries not to look as though anything is amiss. But it's clear from the way Rey's eyes flick to him, just for a second, that she's picked up on it.

Poe shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

Luke isn't trying to make this impossible, just make her work for it. He swirls between things, his footsteps as light as a dancer's, his blade swooping with a pattern all of its own. He makes no attempt to shield his thoughts, letting her have every opportunity to find out where he plans to be, and when.

"…how do they… how do they _do_ that?" Finn whispers to Poe. 

"I honestly don't know," Poe answers. "Not really. They… perceive things on a different level. The Force lets them anticipate, lets them predict. It… gives them a special kind of grace."

It is, and will always be, breathlessly beautiful. Whether it's the swirl of objects in motion, the slow step between them, or…

_…a red blade arcing through the air, that morning in the sunshine, so magnificent and powerful…_

Poe puts his hand on the lightsabre hilt at his hip and tries to keep his mind in the present.

Finn sees him do it, and – out of kindness alone – takes hold of his other hand. Just for a moment, squeezing, and then letting go. 

Luke's sabre hums much more quietly than Kylo's ever could, but it still sings through the air as he turns more aggressive. Not an angry-aggression, but an insistence to his movements that can't be denied. He swings with more power, moves with more speed, pushing at the limits of Rey's tolerance. 

This makes Rey's brow crease again in concentration, the movement obviously becoming harder for her to keep up with. The shapes of her hands tighten, less relaxed now, as a different kind of determination sets in, and…

…Luke's sabre cuts between two objects right as she's focused on them. It doesn't quite make contact with either, but it's enough to hit her concentration. The little swarm of items all waver, and then fall suddenly to the ground with a clatter.

Rey drops her hands, breathing out.

"Focus and concentration come with practice, but you already know the basics," Luke says approvingly (though the tone is soft, and hard to hear). "There will be many different distractions, and you will need to tune those out to listen to the Force." 

"I… don't even know how I'm doing it yet," she replies. There's no irritation in her voice, nothing like that, but it's obvious she's still a little confused. Or… perhaps 'surprised' would be closer. "I just… _do_."

"The Force is… vital. Like breathing. You can learn to pace and hold your breath, but breathing itself is something that comes naturally to life-forms," Luke said. "You can listen to it, coming in and going out of your body. You can feel the way your chest inflates. You can feel the gust through your mouth, your nose… the way the air fogs, in the cold. You are part of the Force, and it is part of you." 

"I… feel it, sometimes," Rey answers. "Other times… things happen, but I can't quite connect to the reason _why_. I just… am I even doing this right? How are you _supposed_ to do it?"

A soft smile. "You do it by letting the Force guide you. By knowing what the _right_ thing to do is. By following peace, and calm. Rey… did my nephew teach you either code?" 

"No," she tells him. "We didn't have long. Just… one hyperspace trip. And he… He showed me some basics. Anticipating. Catching. But he seemed…"

She trails off, eyes flicking to Poe just for a second. The two of them haven't really talked about any of it, but he can't help thinking she knows more than she lets on.

"…He was eager to teach me one thing in particular. How to fight another Force-user out of my head. How to stop them manipulating me."

"It is… a good thing to learn," Luke says, diplomatically. "And if anyone can teach you that, it will be him. I can help as well, but he has more experience with it." He nods, and thinks for a moment. "I will tell you both codes, though there is only one I believe. Or… only one I can follow." His eyes tighten, somewhat. 

"The Jedi Code, is this:" and he recites it.

_"There is no emotion, there is peace;_  
_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge;_  
_There is no passion, there is serenity;_  
_There is no chaos, there is harmony;_  
_There is no death, there is the Force._ "

Rey listens, obviously caught by the words, by the rise and fall of them, the echo and answer. She listens and she nods, watching Luke's eyes intently.

"And… the other?"

"The other is the Code of the Sith. It is not the rules that Snoke appears to use, not fully, but it is the Code that my father, Darth Vader did. It goes…" 

Without even thinking about it, Poe speaks before the Jedi can, cutting in, the words rolling off his tongue with ease.

_"Peace is a lie, there is only passion;_  
_Through passion, I gain strength;_  
_Through strength, I gain power;_  
_Through power, I gain victory;_  
_Through victory, my chains are broken;_  
_The Force shall free me."_

And… then he goes silent, looking perhaps a little concerned about the reaction he's going to get to this. Concerned, yes, but not regretful of his decision to speak.

Because he isn't.

Luke's expression is unreadably complicated, and he nods in acknowledgement. "Correct. The Sith… worked in pairs: a Master and an Apprentice. They did this because more than two would lead to slaughter of one another. They were usually Jedi who were tempted away from the Light by the call of the Dark." 

"But… not always," Poe cuts in, again. "A _very_ long time ago, there were more of them. They worked together. They were strong, they were fearless, and one of them…"

He suddenly realises what he's doing, that – relatively hot on the heels of having a public shouting-match with Han Solo – he's now about to argue Light versus Dark with _Luke Skywalker_. A little horrified, he gets up, making to walk out, fully intent on going right to the very back of the ship where he can sit as close to the engines as possible and let their comforting thrum drive everything else out of his head.

"One of them what?" Rey asks, stopping him in his tracks.

"It doesn't matter," Poe insists, not turning. "You need to listen to Master Skywalker."

"Rey needs to listen to you, too," Luke calls, gently. "I can teach her the way of the Jedi, but you… can show her the other side of the Force. She needs to understand both, if she's going to help destroy Snoke. Leaving out half of the history is how I failed my nephew." 

This takes Poe by surprise, and he looks around now, pacing closer again. He'd expected this to be the end of it; expected Skywalker to – albeit very politely – throw him out, so he's a little caught off guard.

"I don't _have_ the Force," the pilot says, for what feels like the ten thousandth time. As if these conversations exist to remind him of all the things he can't do. "I can't show you anything."

"But… you can," Rey replies, soft and strangely sure. "I remember the way you were when I stood with Kylo in this very room. I could… feel it. Flickers of it. I can feel it again, now, but… brighter. You may not have the Force, but you understand Light and Dark. Some might think Kylo taught you that, but… you learned it together. Didn't you?"

Poe nods, his emotional control threatening to give again.

"It isn't about technique," Luke says, "…it's about control. Either over yourself, or over your emotions. The Jedi teach that emotions are overwhelming, that they are a temptation. A call that is hard to resist. And so it is better to find a keystone within yourself, a place of contemplation, and a knowledge of your ultimate goal: good. My nephew was… I could not help him find the calm within himself. And he destroyed himself in the attempt to find it." 

"He did _not_ destroy himself," Poe snaps, as said emotional control goes all at once. "The things that happened – which he does not deny, I hasten to add – happened because of what _Snoke_ did to him. And there is no one – _no one_ – who would not cave under that eventually. It took at least a decade to fully work on Kylo, and he was a _child_."

Luke snicks off his sabre, and walks over. He lifts a hand to touch gently at Poe's arm. "You do not understand what I am trying to say, Poe. He did destroy himself. He wanted very much to be a Jedi. He wanted to please me, and his parents. He tried to fit into my teachings, and he couldn't. But that was because he…" This is so very, very hard. "…he is not a Jedi. And I gave him no alternative, but to run from me. I failed him, because I couldn't help him be what he needed to be. And I drove him straight into the arms of Snoke, because in trying to keep him in the Light, he was pulled away from who he was. But who he became under Snoke… that wasn't him, either. He was never meant to be evil. We all knew that. We just had no way to help him be… _Ben_. Or… _Kylo_." 

The words hit Poe with a jolt, like a rapid, uncontrolled drop out of hyperspace, and he stares a little. In time, he'll be stunned by just how calm the Jedi is being, how very easy this seems to him. Here, in the moment… it's the honesty that Poe feels first.

"…He can't be fully Light," he says, much more softly. "He can't be fully Dark. That's the problem. Everything was pulling him one way or the other, insisting he choose, insisting he pick a side, but… he was never meant to _be_ one or the other. He was meant to be both."

"I was afraid," Luke admits. "I was afraid of what he could be. I wasn't trained until I was much older, and he was a boy. A boy, with remarkable power. Much like his grandfather, and the whole Jedi Council didn't manage to keep Anakin Skywalker in check. I thought that – by giving him structure, by reinforcing the Light in him, that it would keep Snoke out. That it would give him something to hold onto, and that he would come through it stronger. My father and the Emperor made sure to wipe out nearly every piece of Jedi history there was left, but I knew even if I found it, that it hadn't been enough to prevent Darth Vader…"

Luke's eyes are hurting, and it's no wonder he's been hidden from the galaxy from so long. "I did not teach him what the Dark Side could do, because I thought it would steal him from us. I kept the knowledge, the… tools the Sith could use… from him. I did all I knew, but it wasn't what he needed. He needed another Master, it just… was not Snoke." 

Poe looks down. "He's only just started to understand what he can really do, what he can really _be_. He needed… to master _himself_."

A nudge from a long-dead Sith helped too, though Poe decides maybe he shouldn't mention this part. Though… it was more confirmation than instruction. Kylo found his own new path. Revan's holocron just reinforced the validity of his decision.

Poe breathes out, looking up and… his attention moves somewhat guiltily to Rey. "I'm sorry. I interrupted. I shouldn't have."

"It's all right," she tells him.

"Rey needs to hear from passion, as much as from peace," Luke says. "And as we don't have Kylo – that is the name he uses, isn't it? – as we do not have Master Kylo here, you will have to be his voice until we do."

Finn clears his throat. "So… how do you know if someone's… uh… Light or Dark? And… how does Rey know which she should pick?" 

"None of us are completely one or the other," Luke answers. "But the majority of us have a greater stake in one part of the Force. For the most part, the Light appears as calmness, justice, defence and protection. For the other part, the Dark is usually anger, fear, hatred, despair. One can fall to the Dark from love, and one can fall to the Dark from pettier needs. Most who use the Dark Side become addicted to the power it offers to them, and they seek ever harsher feelings. I… have sought guidance. Through the Force. And where my nephew tempers his emotion with control, I have… heard there were some Jedi who did the opposite."

"Opposite… how?"

"They were Grey Jedi. They promoted justice and peace, still, but they insisted they keep emotions in play. To balance out the logic, they used the heart." 

There's a strange light in Rey's eyes as she hears this. A strange _Light_.

"It's… possible from either side?" she says, softly. "Possible to be a Jedi, but still to…" her eyes flick to Finn, just for a second, "…feel things?"

"It happened. Not often, but it happened. My… Masters were not keen to discuss this with me." Luke offers the slightest of smiles. "My family has long since been the bane of the Council's decisions. Even after they die."

"…what do you mean, 'after they die'?"

"Someone who is strong in the Force can come back to speak with the living," Luke replies, calmly. "And I have been seeking advice, and meditating on how to resolve the problems I have caused."

"…Seeking advice?" Rey repeats. "From whom?"

From her tone, it's clear that the idea of talking to _ghosts_ is a little more than she can handle right now. On this part, Poe can concur wholeheartedly.

"The Jedi who came before me," he answers, mildly. "And from the Force." 

"And you believe it's possible?" she pushes, carefully. "To live with the two sides in balance? To… do it long-term?"

That's the crucial question, after all. Poe is sure it _is_ possible, although he knows it wouldn't be easy. But then… surely living at either extreme is also not easy.

"I had to make a decision, once. My training, or my family. My best friend and my sister were in danger. I had to pick between my Master, and my friends. I picked my friends, and I almost died." Pause. "Almost. They rescued me, and we still won…" This is an answer, and it is not. 

"Anakin Skywalker was meant to bring balance to the Force. The Jedi assumed the balance was theirs, but that… that denies much of what life is, for the galaxy. The Dark will always exist, Rey. Fear, pain, hate, anger… but also love. Love saved my father, at the end. He couldn't see me – or Leia – suffer any more. Whether it's a line that you can walk forever, I don't know. But I do know that trying to force Skywalkers into one role or another…" 

The last Jedi smiles. "It doesn't work. Not for long. We always find a way to break the mould." 

"Then show me," Rey urges. "Whatever my path is… I need to understand it all. So I can find my way through it."

She looks at Luke, then over to Poe. And then… Finn. And…

"…Because, I want to be there with you. When you go to bring Kylo back. I want to be part of it."

Luke thinks about this. He studies her, slowly. "Are you sure? You have much to learn, Rey. And we need to recover Kylo Ren before the damage Snoke does to him…" he doesn't finish that. "Snoke is a very powerful Dark Side adherent. Very powerful. Facing him will not be easy." 

"I know that," she answers, levelly. The words sensible and thought-out, not hot and impulsive. "But I also know… I need to be there. I _have_ to be there. I'm a part of this. And…"

She trails off, perhaps unsure of whether she should say more. Her eyes flick to Poe once again, and… then back to Luke.

"…Because I think I've seen it. In my dreams. Just flickers, but… I think I have."

Luke lets that sink in for a moment, then nods. "Very well. I will have to train you as fast as possible, then. The Light side, I know. The Dark… I'll do what I can. Though you may already have met the best teacher for that."

"Kylo didn't show her how to…" Finn shrugs. "He wasn't really… yelling?"

"Emotion isn't all yelling," Luke answers. "In fact, the yelling might be a step too far in many cases." 

Poe can't help the barest smile at this. Luke most assuredly has a point, though Poe can't help thinking that the yelling worked wonders in his own case.

And… then his heart hurts again. More than he can bear, now.

"I'll leave you to it," he says, softly.

And, without waiting for a response, he paces slowly from the room, heading into the back of the _Millennium Falcon_ , and sinking down against a bulkhead.

Poe drops his head onto his knees, and lets the thrum of the engines push the thoughts from his mind.


	34. Going Through The Motions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings once more, dear readers. We come with the second part of our latest updateathon, which features the return of a certain someone you might have been missing this past week... ;-)
> 
> We'll be back tomorrow, with the chapter you have most _definitely_ been looking for. Until then... let's start moving the pieces into place, shall we?

The days start to pass. Days that blend into weeks. Weeks that are a special kind of torture.

With no other choice, the Resistance leaves D'Qar the same day that the _Millennium Falcon_ returns with Luke Skywalker aboard. Though everyone is understandably buoyed by having the man himself with them at last, they still have no choice but to move.

The beta site is on a world much like D'Qar, if somewhat cooler. It's uninhabited, heavily forested, with three moons that fill the nights with bizarre shadows.

Poe steadfastly refuses to let anyone tell him the name of the planet, or the system, in case there's some way that Snoke could pull the truth from his mind, and find them here. It gets to the point where everyone just starts referring to the planet as 'the beta site', even when he's not around. On the good days, he thinks it's out of common sense and courtesy.

On the bad days, he's sure it's just pity.

Rey spends most of her time training with Luke. And Poe – recognising that Finn needs something to do – starts training the young man as a gunner. He's already good at it, and it's a skill worth building, so Poe borrows one of the Resistance's few Y-Wings and starts taking Finn out on squadron manoeuvres.

Just beyond orbit is as far as Poe will go, though. If he can't know the name of this planet, or its hyperspace co-ordinates, he can't leave the system. It's an absolutely maddening state of affairs, but he won't have it any other way.

He won't risk the base again. Not again.

He still flies, though. Near-constantly. Sometimes with the squadron, and sometimes… sometimes alone, skimming over the trees in his X-Wing, trying to let the sensation dull out everything in his head.

It rarely works for long.

Kylo is still gone. There are occasional sightings on other worlds, whispers of a man cloaked in black, armed with a red lightsabre, but by the time anyone goes in search of him, there's nothing to be found.

But if the days are difficult, the nights are infinitely worse. Over and over, Poe wakes in the darkness, sometimes shaking, sometimes crying out, sometimes sure he was only dreaming, and other times… other times confident the things in his head are real. Confident he can feel the love of his life screaming out across the vastness of space.

Confident that it is, still, all his fault.

***

Four weeks. It's been four whole weeks, now, since Kylo was taken by Snoke. Poe knows it's just a number, just another number, but somehow every time he realises another full week has passed, it weighs even heavier on him.

He goes to sleep, in his quarters, in the new base's main residential block, after an afternoon of fairly intensive orbital manoeuvres, and an evening of Snap trying to distract him. And… Poe knows his best friend means well. He really does. But… tonight, the thoughts weigh too heavy.

He drifts off faster than usual, though, falling into the blackness within his own mind, devoid of images, devoid of dreams. Only, then…

_A small voice. A woman? No. A child. Too young. Crying in pain and terror. Begging for it to stop, begging for it to be over. Begging for the pain to go. It will go if you end it. It will go if you kill her. It will go if you--_

_Not like that. Not like that. It has to be with your hands. If you want her to stop screaming you need to do it with your hands. Into fists, use the bone, feel for hers. Feel it break, feel the blood. Surging over you, splashing onto your face. It will continue to hurt until you--_

_You thought you were giving her peace, but look at you. Look at you, bathed in blood and glorious. You want this. It's why you came back. It's why you came back to me. You knew this was your destiny. You knew you were meant to rule. You **enjoy** this. Your body thrums with pleasure. Your loins fill with the need to take and take and--_

_He's watching. He's watching you. He'll never love you. He can't love you. Too Dark. Too lost. A lie. But he wants you all the same. He'll see you with the blood and the bone and the ichor and the amniotic fluid bathing you from head to toe and he'll hate you and he'll want you, he'll want you to punch him in the face until his nose bursts and you're both hard and you're forcing yourself down his throat and he can't breathe but you don't even need to make him want it and you're choking him and there's no air but there doesn't need to be because how could he ever be enough for Kylo Ren how could a pilot be anything but a hole to fill until it stops complaining it suffers beautifully and if you don't do as I say I'll bring him here and I'll--_

And Poe wakes up **screaming**. Not just crying out, not just _crying_ , but full on **screaming**. He jerks upwards, instinct making him back into the corner of the wall beside his bunk, wrapping his arms around himself and screaming out again, the terror and the grief and the pain so intense that he can't breathe, he can't, he can't…

His mind whites out for a moment, the dimness of his room going hazy. _That_ was not a nightmare. _That_ was real, and he knows it, and he was _supposed_ to know it, and…

…and Snoke is torturing Kylo somewhere. Worse. All but making him torture himself. Making him murder, making him hate, making him _want_ , filling his head with poison and then pouring it all down the link they share, so it drips into Poe's dreams and tortures him, too.

He screams again, half of it still grief, but the other half rage now. Poe Dameron never knew rage before he knew Snoke. He knew anger, yes, and irritation, and disapproval, and resentment, same as any person. But _rage?_

No. Not before Snoke.

It burns at his core. No wonder it used to send Darksiders mad. He doesn't even _have_ the Force, and it makes him want to… to…

…no, no, no.

He closes his eyes. Thinks of the door, like Maz Kanata taught him. Thinks of the Dark room, with Light at its centre. Thinks… of Kylo, in the sunshine, eyes full of fire and hope, doing katas with his lightsabre…

Poe reaches for the sabre-hilt lying beside his bed. He doesn't go anywhere without it. He spends the day with it at his hip, and the night with it by his bunk. And sometimes, when he can't sleep, when there's no one else around…

He pulls the hilt in against his chest, pressing his eyes so tightly closed that he sees sparks. Terrified that the screaming echoing in the back of his head is _real_.

He can't do this. He can't.

He gets up, pulls on clothes, and staggers outside.

The base is quiet, held in the grip of night. There will still be some activity in the command bunker – there always is – but there's no one around down at this end of the complex. He paces off, out from the block and into the trees. They're taller, here, and thicker; great, evergreen spires reaching high overhead. Poe makes his way to a little clearing he's come to know well, grass crunching underfoot as he walks.

The air is cold, and he can feel it stinging against his face, even though his mind hardly processes the sensation. He gets to the clearing, pulls off his jacket, and hangs it over a branch. And then… he reaches for the lightsabre hilt.

He is not a Force-user. Not a Jedi, not really a Sith. He could never _make_ a weapon like this.

But… he can use it. And, when it all gets too much, he comes out here, desperate to teach himself. Desperate to find some small way to hold his own in that world.

Poe sparks the lightsabre into life, and vibrant, crackling red fills the air. He lifts it, watching the blade as it moves, getting a feel for it again. It's been a good few days since he last did this, and it always takes a moment to re-acclimatise.

And… he starts to move. It's all made up as he goes along, given that he has no one to teach him, no way to know if he's doing this right. All he can do is move on instinct, thinking about his form, about his footing, about the angle of the blade. Imagining what he'd do if someone attacked him from the left, from the right, from…

"…D'you come here often?"

The voice catches Poe off guard, and he spins on the spot, pointing the sabre out in front of him somewhat wildly and… finding himself staring along the flickering red blade straight at Snap Wexley.

"…Yes." Honesty is probably wise. Putting the sabre down would probably be wise too, but Poe's brain doesn't quite get that far.

"Huh. I thought as much. I've seen you wandering off this way a few times, but I never thought to follow. Figured you just needed space."

"What changed your mind tonight?" Still not lowering the blade.

"I heard screaming coming from your room." Careful. Level. Concerned. "I often hear screaming coming from your room, but this… Poe, you sounded like someone had run a blade through your gut."

The lightsabre wavers in Poe's grip, all the memory rushing back into his eyes. "…It would have been kinder if they had," he whispers.

"Dameron," Snap says, with surprising care, "put the lightsabre down. Or out. Or… whatever you do with those things."

For a moment, Poe doesn't move, and then… then he nods, and relents, relaxing his stance and letting the blade die to nothing.

"Good. Now. You want to talk about it?"

"No, Snap. I absolutely do not want to talk about it."

"Huh. OK, then. Wait here."

And, without explanation, without elaboration, Snap turns and disappears off, back towards the base. Poe stares after him, a little stunned, trying to work out what the other man is up to.

Snap returns after a couple of minutes, carrying something in either hand. The two somethings turn out to be a pair of thin metal poles, about four feet in length. Precisely where they've come from, Poe isn't sure, but they have the look of structural relevancy about them, and he just hopes that something on base isn't about to fall down. Though, to be fair, Snap is so good at fixing things that whatever-it-is is probably _more_ stable now.

"Catch," the other man says, tossing one of the poles straight at Poe. He reaches up to seize it with his free hand, looking at Snap in surprise whilst clipping the lightsabre hilt back to his belt.

"…Why did you just throw a stick at me?"

Wexley shrugs. "Why'd you think? We only have one lightsabre, and I'd rather not get my face taken off by accident. But if you need to practice this stuff, then… well. Let's give it a try."

"You're humouring me."

"Nope. Helping. I'm helping you. Best friend, remember?"

"Snap…"

But the other man is clearly dead-set on this. He raises the pole he's still holding. "Defend yourself, Dameron."

And… launches at him. Which means Poe has to bring his own makeshift weapon up to block, tangling the two together before pushing Snap back.

"So, go on, then," Snap pushes, as they circle for another go. "What happened?"

"I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

Step in. Clash. Clash. Back. Circle. Again.

"You do. You just need a little nudge, first." Wexley's eyes are full of mischief, but at the same time there's a shipload of concern in them too.

"I do not need a little nudge." In. Circle. Clash. Clash. Duck. Try not to swear when you mis-time and get whacked on the arm.

"Yeah, you do. And that was a little nudge."

Poe backs off just slightly. "Sometimes I forget that you grew up on Akiva."

"Yep. Mostly on my own, too. You learn to take care of yourself that way."

"And that includes fighting with sticks?"

Snap shrugs. "It includes any kind of fighting necessary. No lightsabres, though. But isn't this nearly as good?"

It is, although Poe won't say it. He swings in again, and Snap blocks him with ease.

"What happened?"

Again. He's very persistent. Poe shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Poe, you were screaming. And even by your standards over the last few weeks, you were screaming a _lot_. And, damn it, you're my best friend. Just tell me already."

Weapon up. Block. Parry. Step. Step again. Step…

"Images, in my head," Poe says, in between attacks. "I get them regularly. Usually when I sleep. Sometimes I think they're just nightmares. Sometimes… sometimes they're not."

"Your bond with Kylo?"

"Yes. Yes. I can _feel_ Snoke doing things to him. Feel him… feel him _breaking_ , and it… I…"

That wave of rage overtakes, and suddenly Poe is fighting with everything he's got, makeshift weapon crashing down over and over, until Snap manages to push him off and back away, free hand held up.

"Easy. Easy. Stay in the moment, Dameron. Stay _here_."

Snap has warned him about this before: about the times when his mind will just _leave_ , and Poe will either shut down, or act without thinking. Sometimes without fully remembering it afterwards. So far it's only happened once behind the controls of a ship, but it had the whole squadron worried, and since then Snap has flagged it up whenever he's noticed it.

"I'm here. I _am_ here. Where else could I be? I need to be _there_. I need to find him and I _can't_ , and that monster is… is…"

"I know," Snap says, carefully. "I know."

"No… you don't," Poe replies, not hostile, just… firm. "You don't. I'm not just worrying about him or having nightmares about him, I am literally _seeing and feeling_ the things he's going through. And it's hell, Snap. It's…"

The other man really goes for him at this point, and Poe has to stop speaking in order to deflect, to block, to attack back, again, and again, and…

" _Poe_." The way Snap says his name knocks Poe out of the haze he's fallen into. He blinks, realising he's got the other man all but backed into a tree, makeshift weapon pointed right at his chest.

"I… sorry, I…" Poe lowers the weapon and steps away.

Despite it all, Snap grins. "You're better at this than you think."

"…I have very good motivation."

"Now that, we agree on. Although people don't usually _apologise_ when they win."

Poe looks down. "I wasn't apologising for winning. I was apologising for _how_ I won."

"You do realise it's natural to be upset when something terrible happens to someone you love?"

"Of course I do. But…"

He trails off, not wanting to say more, pacing further away.

"But what?" Snap pushes.

Poe does not want to say any more. Not a single word. Certainly not the words that Snap is asking for. He closes his eyes, but the dark world behind them doesn't feel safe, so he has to open them again.

"…I told you about the bond between Kylo and me. And… I told you that I think Snoke got into _my_ head through it, the day we… the day we went to the _Decimator_."

Snap nods, carefully. "Yes. And that's why you won't let anyone tell you the name of this planet. In case he's still listening."

"Exactly. And I keep trying to tell myself that, now me and Kylo are so far apart, it surely can't work the same. But… I won't take the chance. And…"

"…You're scared he's still in there," Snap surmises. "Snoke, I mean. Scared that he's… what? Manipulating you?"

Poe nods, shakily. "Yes. Whenever I feel anything… anything _Dark_ … I start to worry that he's causing it. That he's slowly breaking me, too. That… one day I'll just give in to the _rage_ stoking at my core, and…"

Snap steps forward and grabs him by the shoulders. "Poe. It is _normal_ to be upset. To be angry. It doesn't mean that some Dark Side mass-murderer is in your head. It means you're _human_."

"But what if it doesn't?" Poe whispers. "What if Snoke is slowly but surely–?"

"Then he's _failing_ ," Snap points out. "Yes, you're angry; yes, you're upset, and you want to fight, and you want to act, but Poe, _seriously_ , that is _normal_. And other than a little combat training in the middle of the night, you're not exactly going rogue. You're still… you're still _you_."

He has a point, of course, and on some level Poe knows it. Yes, he can't be certain that Snoke isn't ever slipping into his head, but… he does still feel like himself. Mostly. It's the doubt that's the killer.

"Thanks," Poe says, softly. "I… don't know how I'd've got this far without you."

Snap grins. "Well, that's what best friends are for. That and I really don't want to have to break in _another_ squadron leader."

"You know, if that happened, it'd probably be you, right?"

"Nah. It'd be Karé. You ex-Navy types are made for this sort of thing."

"Snap. It'd be you." Though that is not to say Karé wouldn't be good at it too, because she absolutely would. Just… that it would be Snap. It probably should have been him in the first place. Probably would have been, too, if General Organa hadn't recruited Poe when she did.

"So don't go dying on me or running off forever, and I won't have to worry about it either way," Snap replies, easily.

"…I'll do my best."

"Good. Now. You gonna give me a chance to make this one-all, or are you quitting while you're ahead?"

"Snap. I never quit."

The other man grins, giving his makeshift weapon a little spin. "Me neither."

And they charge at each other again.

***

Poe feels better, the next morning. Not good, not by any means, but better.

It's just after breakfast, and he's walking down towards the command bunker when he runs into Snap heading the other way. And, the second he does, he can tell something is going on.

"Hey," Snap says. "I was just looking for you."

"You found me. What's happened?"

The other man seems unusually serious. "I wanted to tell you first, before you found out at the briefing. I'm going offworld. It's a recon flight, but I'll be landing and doing groundwork too."

"Where?"

Snap's expression is complicated. "Akiva."

"You're going home?"

"Only briefly, but yes. I'm taking Jess with me. We're to make a full sweep of the system, and then go planetside. We land in Myrra."

"How long has it been, since you were there last?"

Snap shakes his head. "Not long enough. And… too long. And… you need to ask me why I'm going."

Poe feels suddenly cold. "Why are you going?"

"There's reports of heavy First Order presence in the area," Snap explains. "It looks like they might be intent on trying to sway the Akivan government into pledging allegiance to them. Akiva has always been very… torn."

This is an understatement. But… "…There's more, isn't there?"

Now Snap's expression is borderline grim. "Yes. Poe… there have been sightings. Of…"

"…A man in black, with a red lightsabre." Poe's voice is emotionless as he speaks, his mind threatening to shut down. There have been many such sightings, and none have led to anything but more whispers.

This far, at least.

"Be careful," he urges, because he means it, and because there's little more he can say. Little more he dares say. "If… if it is Kylo… don't do anything reckless. Just… find out what you can, and come home."

Snap manages a smile, and grips his shoulder. "I'll do my best. You can count on that."

***

Akiva. Once a stronghold of the Empire, long gone. Slumbering droid factories, slumbering people. A world always on the edge, on the tipping point between _Light_ and **Dark**. Or was it just Left and Right? Order or Republic? This Master, or That? 

It is a fairweather planet, always spinning to face the brightest light. It would be a test to win it, and a test that made the whole war follow. That's why he is here. That's why the Supreme Leader has sent Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren.

His _Upsilon-class_ shuttle comes down, shortly after the troop carriers. He never lands first. It is part of the mythos of _him_. He comes to finish things. He, more than any ship, the **Finalizer** of the First Order. The ending, the last blow, the coup de grâce. His craft lands, and the people in the thronging forum are already corralled into a small circle.

Here, in the central place of their so-called democracy. Their freedom. He watches as they bleat and wail like cattle, like the pathetic things they are. His troopers poke, prod, and they obey. It's pathetic. People like this deserve to be ruled. They don't have the intelligence, the wit, or the strength to make their own decisions. What would it matter to them, if they followed one flag over another? Would they even notice a difference in their bondage, in their status as nothing more than chattel?

Kylo Ren paces towards them, through the troopers who part like water from a static-charged rod. He walks through to the small fulcrum of so-called 'leaders', the politicians and the statesmen and the--

His pace halts. His stride breaks. His robes continue to move, gushing past long legs. His masked face turns into the crowd, and he looks for the trace of _familiar_ that he can sense.

"If you don't step forwards, my troopers will kill ten of the natives for every minute of my time you waste," he calls out. 

For a few seconds, there's nothing. Nothing but the frightened murmurs of the crowd, and the weight of the hot air. And then… two figures step from where they've been hiding, off to the side of the square:

Temmin Wexley and Jessika Pava. Snap and Testor.

They're both armed. Snap steps out first, very deliberately staying in front of Jess, but both of their blasters are pointed right at Kylo.

"Don't you touch them," Snap says, firm and level. "They're no threat to you."

"And you are no threat to me," Kylo replies, his voice almost entirely devoid of any emotional reaction whatsoever. He doesn't even bother to move their hands, to redirect their blasters. 

"I came here to offer the First Order's protection to the leaders of these people. But when you ask to speak to them, strangely no one wants to admit to it. I wonder, do they even know who rules them at all? Or are they simply so pathetic that they would not stand up for their own kind?" 

A wavering voice pipes up: "The… the Senator… is away." 

Kylo lifts his hand without turning, and the owner of the voice is dragged closer, her toes scraping the floor, her hands up by her throat.

"And when he – or she – is not here? What then? Do you simply all buzz about like little worker drones? Does anyone know what you're doing?" the Sith asks, but he is still staring at the two Resistance pilots.

"…we…" choke… "…have… orders… duties…" 

"And what would you do if there were no more Senate? No more Republic? Who would rule you, then?" 

"The First Order will _never_ take Akiva," Snap cuts in, weapon still pointed right at Kylo. Unwavering. Unwavering, except for the confliction in his eyes, which is absolute. A man looking at someone who is so clearly his enemy, despite knowing that he also _isn't_. "I won't allow it. And…"

A flicker. A hesitation. Unsure if he should speak again, or…

Snap goes for broke. " _Kylo_. This is not you. Snoke is in your head. Manipulating you. Fight it. Stop this. Leave these people alone and _come home_."

Kylo's hand moves, and the woman is dropped to the ground. His hand moves, and the gloved fingers are up between him and Snap, now. He reaches into his body, finds the cords to pull, the strings, and he flips them. He flips them, until the blaster turns and points – presses – straight against the second pilot's head. She can't move, and neither can he.

"The First Order will take Akiva, and any world it wants. Everyone will bow before the Order, before the Supreme Leader. He is wise. He will rule with intelligence, and power. He will take away the doubt, the confusion. He will make all bow to his command. He will strip away the lies, and he will make Akiva strong again. No more skulking on the edges of civilisation. The Supreme Leader will welcome you _home_." 

Jess' eyes go wide with alarm, and it's obvious that she's trying to fight the way she's held, completely unprepared for it. This is not, after all, a common problem faced by Resistance pilots, even if it does seem to be becoming a little more so of late.

"Killing us will get you nowhere," she hisses, voice full of defiance. "The Resistance will _never_ bow to the First Order. We would rather die."

" _Not helpful_ ," Snap mutters to her. Instinct clearly makes him try to fight the Force-grip too, though not to the same extent. Perhaps because he knows he can't.

"Would you like to die? I can arrange it," Kylo says, with a sneer. "Another pilot with a death wish tried, once. I asked him if it was selected for, in your recruitment. Maybe you're all perverted."

He makes Snap cock the blaster, the safety proven to be off. 

"You could die, right here. In front of them all. I could prove what it is to resist the Order. I could show these cowering wretches that they have two options: _yield or die_. It would galvanise most of them. The need to survive is a powerful one, you see…" Kylo's fingers twist in the air, and he feels the weight of the blaster, the first bite of the trigger mechanism under the pilot's finger.

"You might think you were dying for a just cause, but you'd send them closer to the Leader's arms. And then… then maybe I'd send back your companion, here. Should I shackle him before I do? Bind him up and set the ship to fly without control? Have a holo recording of him killing you play before his eyes on repeat, and before your precious Generals when you land? So you know how _badly_ you've been beaten?" 

"Kylo, stop this," Snap hisses. There's very genuine terror in his expression, but he won't back down. "This isn't what you want, and you know it. If you wanted either of us dead, we already would be. But you _don't_. You can fight what that… that _monster_ is doing to you. You can send _him_ a message, right here, right now. A message that Kylo Ren is no one's _puppet_."

Jess closes her eyes. Obviously thinking she's about to die.

"You know **nothing** ," Kylo hisses, his voice feral, even through the mask. "I kill when I want to, who I want to. I'm sending a message right _now_. It's just that you're too stupid to understand what it is. If you want to know how easy it is…"

And then he bears his full weight down on Snap's mind, his eyes unfocusing slightly as he pushes everything he has into controlling him. It isn't needed. He could do it with a flick of his own finger, but he has to let the other man know how utterly he's owned and controlled and-- 

_So easy, so easy. Controlling others as simple as walking, as breathing. Simpler. Natural. Convincing his father to give him the cookie. His mother slapping at his father's hand, scolding him for listening to their son. Ben not sure why it's any different from just plain **asking**._

_Wanting to make the angry man go away, afraid of what he'll do. Not ready to fight, not wanting to resort to violence. Lose, if you just use your fists. Win, if you use the Force. Called a coward if you run. Called a freak if you 'cheat'. Just wanting them to **go away** and that's not wrong, is it? Not wrong if you're avoiding worse hurt._

_Standing in front of a man who deserves to die. The Supreme Leader has told him he does. Told him he's bad. Told him he's done terrible things. It's okay to kill him. It's okay because you can kill the bad people. It's okay to make him put the blaster against his own head and--_

_No excuse this time. No reason. The Supreme Leader wants it to happen, and Kylo Ren knows if he doesn't kill them quickly, it will hurt for hours. Both him, and the Wookiee in front of him. At some point it would likely be a mercy killing. A mercy for both of them. Kylo does this faster._

_A blur of deaths, and it becomes meaningless. Trigger. Dead. Trigger. Dead. Trigger. Dead. It starts to feel good, and he's not sure why. Did it always feel good, and he didn't know? A heat. A flush. Blood singing in his body. The power. The power the Supreme Leader offers. The freedom._ (The absence of pain.) _The way endorphins rush through his body, conditioning the response. The words in his ear that this is right is right is right he is Dark he wants this he wanted it all along no Jedi would ever do this no good heart would ever do anything but stop and he hasn't stopped so he must want it this is right it is right it is right it is kill them make them end make them stop and revel in the--_

_A flare – a tiny flare – of Light that rails in his chest. That has always been there, afraid and in pain. A small voice – a hurting one – that protests that this must be wrong. That there is never any pleasure to be found in death. That snuffing out a life from the Force is wicked, and that the blood and the lust and the maddening drive is all false, all false, and he has to stop it but he can't stop it if he stops it the pain will come back Snoke will hurt him more and he just has to make the pain go away and if he doesn't do it now he will do it later he always kills them in the end because he is weak not like his uncle not like his mother not like his father he is weak and he just wants to survive and he wants to get through the pain and keep breathing and a nice man a good man a decent man would end himself rather than be put to work in so much sin and so much evil so much wickedness and--_

_**If not you, then I will find another Master for my Knights of Ren…** _

_No, no, no, no. Kylo tries again, his hand shaking – and now it's now and he is staring into eyes he knows and eyes that know Poe and Poe… Poe… he would never, ever forgive him how did he forgive him last time? He won't forgive him this time. He can't. He promised he'd do anything rather than break again, and he broke. He broke, and everyone knows it and his resolve is shattering and it hurts, the pain he shields off, the years of it come battering down on him and that tiny, tiny, tiny voice that says_ no _and doesn't want this and knows he can be something else if only he were strong enough but he isn't strong enough but he can at least save Poe from one last injury and keep one less thing from his soul and even that is a show of how pathetic he is because why would he recoil just because he knows the man it's another sign of how weak he is and not good not good at all and – he – doesn't – want – to – be – this – any – more – andandandandand he said kill me kill me if it comes to it I don't want to be this I don't want to break please someone just kill me before I kill you--_ and his hand falls, and the blaster falls, and no one is dead, but Kylo thinks he soon will be.

The Supreme Leader will **not** accept such a failure.

"Go," he snarls. "And tell your Resistance their end is upon them. Pray to the Maker, settle all your debts, I'm coming for _them_ next." 

But loud, in their heads, ringing over and over: " **RUN**." 

Both pilots half-drop when the Force-grip on them is released. They look… terrified. Horrified. And… like they understand. Snap is back in front of Jess in an instant, his eyes hazy from the shock of what's happened, from the control followed by that rush of near-overwhelming emotion, and it's clear that he can't even begin to process it.

"Come get us," he says, with all the strength he's got left, but somehow seeming to understand that there's two conversations going on here. "The Resistance is ready for you. And…" A flicker in his eyes: defiance, mischief, hope. A message that works on all levels. "…Tell your illustrious leader that Poe Dameron says his days are numbered."

And then, without waiting for a reply, he turns, dragging Jess along with him, as the two of them race off, disappearing between the buildings and out of sight, back to wherever they've hidden their X-Wings.

And they're gone.

Kylo watches them go, feels the eyes on him. The eyes of his troopers, the eyes of the Akivans. He's here to control them, and he can't even control himself. He can't even do the one thing he was sent here to do. He can't even…

"Sir?"

His breathing is ragged under his helmet, his control fraying, the flickers of another mind on the edges of his own. Testing, probing, pressing, pushing. His mouth tries to stay shut, tries to say the things. Tries to tell the Akivans just to _give in_ because if they don't then he's under orders to execute one in ten, until they obey. Down the line, the tenth to die. Arbitrary numbers. Calculations. Figures. Not real people. Dots. But every one he will feel go out in the Force, every last one will scratch their fingers inside of his mind and his heart as they die and leave more bleeding wounds and how can he hold out?

"…your… orders, Sir?"

Kylo slams his mind into the woman's. 

" _Akiva yields_ ," she says, though it's not her mind behind her tongue. 

He can't save them for long. But he can maybe buy them time to run.

"Inform the Supreme Leader," Kylo says, and storms off.

***

General Hux is standing watching space go by when Kylo Ren walks up to stand beside him. He saw the Supreme Leader alone, after Akiva. Alone in the holochamber. Those meetings – just the two of them – are more frequent, now. Before it was them both. Before…

"What are our orders?"

Hux hates asking him this, Kylo knows. He should get a grim satisfaction from finally proving he is more important than the Force-less soldier, but he doesn't feel anything at all right now. "We are to rendez-vous with the _Decimator_."

"Again?"

"Do you question the Supreme Leader's decisions?" Don't.

"No, I…" A snap of heels together. "Do we have co-ordinates?"

"Numedia, in the Sette-Gamma system."

He's memorised the location. Of course he has. He was made to chant it, not long since, on repeat. A beacon, a call to arms, a call to battle. Poe. He's told Poe to come. He's told Poe to meet him there.

Hux doesn't need to order the navigation to lock on to those co-ordinates, his underlings too well trained to anticipate almost every whim. Kylo watches with distant, detached eyes. What would they do, if their Senator – their **General** was no more? Or their Supreme Leader? What would anyone do if their Master was gone?

"Did he tell you anything else?"

"To expect company."

Hux's eyes glimmer, and Kylo knows he understands. He also knows – without reading the man – that he thinks this is an opportunity for personal revenge. Revenge on the Resistance who destroyed his base.

The ones Kylo h-- no. No. That's forgiven. That's forgotten. Even Hux can't think that Kylo really wanted that? He shows no more hate now than he did before. It's a blip, an aberration. An exception, proving the rule of his loyalty, of Snoke's own rule.

"Very well. I'll ensure my fighters are kept in--"

"No."

"No?"

"We let them land. The Supreme Leader has his own plans for them."

Hux deflates visibly. Kylo does not care.


	35. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers... this is it. In terms of plot, this is probably the biggest chapter we've done since _that_ moment out in the jungle of Eigengrau. We've been actively building up to it for a week and a half, and secretly building up to it since pretty much the word 'go'.
> 
> We hope, from the bottom of our hearts, that this is what you've been waiting for.
> 
> *holds out the liquor and hugs* You might need these.

It's early evening on the beta site as two X-Wings come tumbling through the clouds. Poe's in the command bunker when Snap and Jess radio in for landing clearance, and he knows, he _knows_ , the moment he hears Snap's voice, that something has happened.

He races outside as the ships swoop overhead, coming in to land, running down towards them, heart hammering in his chest.

Jess is the first to clamber out, foregoing the usual ladder and just jumping straight to the ground, yanking off her helmet and smacking both hands into the side of her ship, hard. Snap follows a moment later, racing over to her at once and grabbing her by the shoulders, saying something low and urgent, something that makes her relax a little, and nod, holding his eyes.

They both turn, as if they know Poe is watching them.

"What happened?" he asks, at once.

"…The First Order has Akiva," Snap replies. There's bitterness in his tone, along with a heady mixture of fear and anger, but it's all being subsumed under something deeper, something he's not saying yet. "We're too late. I need to see General Organa, need to…"

He trails off, very tellingly.

"Snap… what is it?" Poe pushes, aware that their positions have – for the moment – reversed. Knowing that the flickers in his best friend's eyes mean something deep and terrible.

Knowing, already, what it must be, even though his mind won't engage with it.

Snap and Jess exchange a look, and then – as one – they grab hold of Poe and pull him behind the nearest X-Wing, where they can talk out of sight.

"Kylo was there," Snap says. "We did the orbital recon, realised they were on the surface already, and went down for a closer look. They had most of the political elite rounded up. Kylo… was trying to make them yield."

Poe looks – and feels – like he's just run headlong into a wall. "He… he was… he's back to… _fuck_ …"

He's gone under again. The nightmares are all true. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"He was with scores of Stormtroopers, Poe," Jess adds. Her eyes are haunted, and full of the need to fight. "We tried to make a stand. We figured… we couldn't just sit back and watch…"

Poe reaches out, putting a hand on her arm, and his other hand on Snap's arm. "I know," he whispers, softly. "I know that feeling all too well."

_Jakku. Tuanul. A swarm of Stormtroopers in the dark, and a black-clad figure walking across the sands, and…_

Stay here, Dameron. Stay here.

"Snap tried to talk him down," Jess goes on. "It was unbelievably brave. And damned stupid!"

But it's clear she agrees with the decision.

"I had to try," Snap insists, softly, meeting Poe's eyes. "I had to, for all you've been through over the last month. For… for him, too. It didn't go well." There's a wry flicker in his expression, now. "He had Jess' blaster down and mine against her head before either of us knew what was happening. It was…"

"…I know what it was," Poe interjects, levelly. "It's like… your whole body doesn't belong to you anymore. But you're still trapped in it. And no matter how much you fight…"

"…Yeah," Snap manages. "But I kept trying to talk him down. I had to. I…"

"There's more, isn't there?" Poe pushes. He knows there is. Both from how Snap is behaving and because… because he just _knows_.

"He hasn't told me that part, either," Jess points out. "He just kept saying 'when we get back to base, when we get back to base'. Spent the whole hyperspace flight worried out of my mind."

They both turn to look at Snap, now. "All right," he concedes. "But… Poe… you're not going to like it. _I_ didn't like it. I don't know how you can…"

 _Oh_. "…He went into your head, didn't he?" Poe surmises, softly. "He went right into your head."

Snap nods. He looks… a mixture of stunned and horrified. In all the time he's known the man, Poe has never seen Snap Wexley look like this.

Poe goes cold, a sick feeling rising in his stomach. "Tell me," he pushes, as carefully as he can. Desperate to know, but at the same time aware of how the other man must be feeling.

"It… was barely coherent," Snap says, obviously struggling to explain it. "I saw flashes of things… flickers of his childhood, flickers of… of pain, of killing, of… Poe, I don't even know how to process it, how to…"

Jess looks horrified. Poe goes for broke, grabbing Snap by both shoulders and staring at him.

"Did he say anything?" he asks, desperately. "In amongst it all… did he say anything?"

"Not in clear words, but…" Snap's eyes go distant. "I could feel him trying to act. Trying to kill us, but… he couldn't. He… was thinking of you. Thinking you would never forgive him. He…"

He reaches out, hands on Poe's arms, head bowed. "Fuck, Poe, I'm sorry, I can't make sense of it."

"Give it time," Poe manages, a little brokenly. What he's heard is already more than enough. More than too much.

"…He was begging for someone to kill him," Snap says, his voice cracking. "Poe, it was…"

Poe pulls the other – taller – man in and hugs him. Usually Snap Wexley is the sort to _give_ hugs rather than need them, but right now… he looks like he needs one.

"I know," Poe whispers, trying to help the other man through it even though he himself is breaking apart inside. "I know. How did you get away?"

"He let us go," Jess says. "All of a sudden, the Force-grip just _went_ , and then I could hear him _screaming_ in my head. Just one word. **Run**."

"You heard that part too?" Snap says, pulling back from the hug and looking over at her. "I thought it was just me."

"No. I heard it. All that other stuff, though… I didn't get that."

"Probably for the best," Snap tells her, wryly. And then, he looks at Poe. "I'm sorry. I couldn't get to him. I tried, but…"

"Don't apologise," Poe insists, softly. "It would never have happened. Snoke… will have pushed him too far down, made him…"

He trails off. He can't. He can't do this. He can't live with the images in his head, can't…

…no. No. The room. The door. The oasis.

 _Breathe_.

"We need to tell General Organa," Poe hears himself saying. "If the First Order is moving on populated worlds, this is about to get a whole lot worse."

"You don't need to tell us twice," Snap replies.

"Agreed," Jess concurs.

The three of them exchange a look, and then they head off.

To work out what comes next.

***

After an evening of frantic briefings and Command Team discussions – all without a firm decision being reached – Poe is just glad to get back to his quarters.

Part of him thinks he should go and find Snap again, and try to talk to him more about what happened. Try to help him through it. Try… to find out if the other man remembers anything else from when Kylo was in his head.

Poe still feels sick and cold whenever he thinks about it. Whenever he thinks of Kylo, back with the First Order. Back _under_. Broken into shape by that _monster_.

He doesn't know how much longer he can keep not acting. How much longer he can stay here, on this planet with a secret name.

He goes to sleep. Doing so is always a worrying process, heavy with the knowledge that the dreams will no doubt come, and with them flickers of things that are surely real, and dark, and terrible. Only… tonight is different. Poe sleeps for several hours without a flicker of anything in his mind. Nothing. Oblivion.

And then something rises up: not a slew of violence and hate, but something much more focused. Something… like a beacon in the blackness, calling out to him, reaching for him, bidding him to come forth, to step forward, to make himself seen, to…

Poe wakes up with a jolt, followed by another – larger – jolt as he realises he's no longer in bed. He's still in his room, in the low lighting, but at some point in his sleep he's climbed out of his bunk, because right now he's on his knees in the middle of the floor.

And… he looks up. And up. And _gasps_.

There's writing on the flat, otherwise blank wall directly in front of him, the letters starting as high as he can reach and sweeping down low, scraped into the duracrete. A message written in his sleep, meant to be seen on waking.

' _Numedia – Sette-Gamma_ ', the letters read.

And he knows it. Knows it, without a shadow of a doubt, in a moment of realisation that is like being kicked in the chest.

 _Numedia in the Sette-Gamma system_.

That's where Kylo is.

And Poe… has to go after him. He has to. He knows it's insane. Knows there's a reason why he ran during their last encounter. Knows there's a reason he doesn't leave the beta site planet.

But he has to go. He can't go on like this any longer. He either gets Kylo back… or he doesn't.

It has to be now.

But… he has to tell General Organa. He owes her that much. And if she'll help him… he'll take the help.

If not… he'll go alone.

One way or another… this has to end.

***

Poe slips out of the residential block in the dead of night. Much like on D'Qar, Leia's quarters are near the central bunker, so Poe sets off in that direction, determined to do this.

The air is quiet, and cool, and he moves quickly, silently, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

"You can't tell her," comes a soft voice, from in the shadows themselves. The Jedi Master knows how not to be seen, when he wants to. "This is something we need to do without her. She will be honour-bound to send more people, when it has to be just us."

Poe whirls around at once, the sudden voice making his heart race with surprise, and he curses himself for being so jumpy.

"Master Skywalker," he says, carefully. He knows, at once, that Luke is aware of what's going on. Precisely how is impossible to say, but impossible to deny at the same time. "I have to tell her. I can't just run off. Not again."

"Sometimes it's the wise path, even if it wasn't before." Luke looks… sad. "It's better this way. Trust me."

The Jedi turns, and walks in the direction of the two TIE-Interceptors, knowing he'll be followed.

Already there, are Rey and Finn. Finn's inside one of the craft, pressing at buttons. He doesn't notice the newcomers immediately. 

All Poe can do _is_ follow. And… hope that Luke's involvement in all this is a good sign.

Rey smiles – albeit a little nervously – as they approach. "We're almost ready," she says to Luke. And then, she looks to Poe. "Finn's re-programming the friendly signal on the TIEs. So they have even less chance of seeing us coming."

"Us?" Poe repeats. "You're coming too?"

She nods. "Yes."

It must still be a terrifying prospect. Even four weeks of intensive tutelage under Luke Skywalker himself can't be enough to prepare a person to face a man as powerful and _evil_ as Snoke.

"I think I got it. I don't know the _Decimator_ 's codes, but I knew the _Finalizer_ 's," Finn says, coming out of the TIE at last. "Just remember to… I don't know… fly like you're not spies." He offers a weak smile. "And don't leave the landing tether on this time?"

Poe grins. "Honestly, you forget to untether it one time. One time!" He claps Finn on the shoulder. "Shoulda got you to give us the codes when we went… you know. Before. I did pretend to be you, though, which in hindsight was a very bad idea."

But he hadn't exactly been thinking clearly.

"…you pretended to be a traitor?" Finn asks, biting his lip in an attempt not to say something more. "And they didn't shoot you out of the air? Man. They really went to hell without me, didn't they?" 

"Yep," Poe admits, actually blushing a little. "First thing that came into my head. Either they didn't notice, or they did and they let us in anyway." He shrugs, trying not to look like a man terrified out of his mind. "I'm not a good liar. And if I told you I was, you wouldn't believe me. And… Maker, but we actually have to do this now."

Finn cocks his head at the ships. "I'd come with you. Shoot a few of them, but they only fit two in each. You're gonna need the last spot for someone with a glowing sword." Finn's eyes drift to Poe's hip. 

Which… really hits home. Poe puts his hand over the sabre hilt, meeting the other man's eyes. "You're a good man, Finn," he says, softly. "The Resistance is lucky to have you. And… if I don't come back from this, you make sure that Snap keeps using you as a gunner. He'll teach you to fly, too, if you ask him nicely. Or… I will. If I do come back."

"I'd like that," Finn says. "I mean, I enjoy shooting. But I think I could do more to help if I wasn't grounded. You… you take care of yourself, okay? I didn't break you out for you to go dying back on one of those ships." And then… a flicker of his eyes to Rey. "…and keep her safe, too?"

"I don't need keeping safe," Rey reminds him, firm but kind. "I can do that part myself. And…"

She stares at Finn, hesitating a second, biting her lip just a little… and then she grabs hold of the ex-trooper and kisses him, hard and fast. And… promptly lets go again, flushing somewhat pink, but not looking sorry in the slightest.

Poe has to fight the urge to cheer out loud.

Finn was about to protest when he was grabbed for a kiss. Which is when he just… lets her. And then he beams widely, and grabs her hand in his, and holds it. "I was gonna ask you to look after _him_ as well," he insists.

Luke just smiles. "We'll make sure Rey and Poe – and my nephew – come back safe and sound," he insists. 

"We… should get going," Poe says, heavily. The thought is still horrifying. Yes, of course he wants to bring Kylo home. More than he can possibly put into words. But, the idea of going back to that place, of seeing Snoke again… it's…

_Stay in the moment. Stay here._

Deep breath.

They turn, and start climbing up into the TIE-Interceptors: Rey taking the pilot's seat in one, with Luke in the gunner's station behind her, and Poe – alone – in the other.

"We'll be back," he calls down to Finn. A promise, not just to the man, but to himself as well.

"You better," Finn calls back. He looks worried, but also… proud. He sticks a thumb up to them, and waits until they're gone. 

***

The two Interceptors drop out of hyperspace.

Up ahead of them, the planet Numedia hangs in the blackness. It's a gas giant, shimmering in hues of green and turquoise, well removed from the bright yellow star – Sette-Gamma – at the centre of the system. Broad rings encircle the planet itself, angled a little strangely – betraying the planet's odd magnetic poles – and, just above them, the _Decimator_ lurks like a dagger poised to strike.

The sight of it makes Poe's blood go cold. The hyperspace trip has given him more than enough time to think, and most of what he's thought hasn't been good. The three of them, charging off to rescue Kylo, to confront Snoke… it still feels like a near-impossible task.

But he has to make it work. They have to make it work. Poe has waited this long to find the love of his life again. He can't go another day without Kylo. He can't.

He _won't_.

"Follow me in," he says – over the radio – to Rey, in the other Interceptor. She's piloting it like she was born to it, staying in close formation.

And then… he goes wider-band on the radio, hailing the _Decimator_ and broadcasting the newly-tuned friendly signal.

Deep breath. Get it right this time.

" _Decimator_ squadron control, this is FN-9422, inbound from the _Finalizer_. We have updated patrol data for download. Request resupply."

"Copy that, 9422," comes the reply. Not a hint of surprise. Either they're fooled, or… they're letting the two ships in deliberately. "Bay 7 is lit up. Landing clearance verified."

"Roger, control."

…Very, very much easier. Poe just has to hope that Finn's codes have done the trick.

The two ships swoop down towards the _Decimator_. Poe tries to keep his eyes on his scope as he goes, not looking at the ship out the window any more than he has to. Not wanting to stare at those gravity well projectors, or the banks and banks of cannons.

Bay 7 is half-empty when they arrive. The two ships come in side-by-side, clunking to a halt on adjacent pads, and Poe cracks the hatch at once, leaping out as soon as he can, trying to stay out of sight.

Rey follows suit, looking around in obvious surprise and alarm at the sheer size of the place, moving in closer to Poe – not seeking protection, but offering it.

He wonders how much she can sense. From what he's seen, the young woman's training has been moving fast, and she was damn good to begin with.

Luke's movements are more ponderous and considered, as he steps out, too. He keeps the hood of his robe up, but no one even looks in their direction. "It's this way," he says, and starts to walk towards the centre of the ship. 

The other two can only follow in his wake. Poe stays close – guessing that Luke will shield them from being seen, the way Kylo did – and Rey does the same, either because she knows too, or because it seems sensible.

It does seem sensible. This whole place feels dark and ominous and terrible, and if it's like that to Poe, what must it be like to a Force-user?

They walk. It's a different route to last time – given that they're coming in from a different bay – but it doesn't feel quite as far. And… Poe can't help reading into that, sure that it's because everyone knows they're here, that they were let in for a reason, that Snoke is waiting for them and this time, he'll…

Rey grabs Poe's arm, soft and sure. "It's going to be all right," she says.

He nods, wanting to believe her so very badly.

And… then his blood goes cold. He sees it, up ahead. Sees a door, _the_ door, the one that haunts his dreams and his nightmares. A door still scarred by deep slashes, cut into the metal by frantic swipes with a lightsabre blade.

Poe stops dead.

Luke turns, and makes sure both of them are looking at him. "It will be all right," he says. "I've seen enough to know. You must remember: for balance, both sides need to be equal. Remember that." And then he turns and opens the door with a wave of his hand.

Inside, they are waiting for them. The room is the same as it ever was, except high in the fore-centre of the room, on a throne that haunts many people's nightmares, is a man. Old, and grey, and so-not-grey. He sits with his hands steepled before him, and at the bottom of the dais stands a second man. This one clad in black from head to toe, with only flickers of chrome and durasteel to accent the Darkness. 

The Supreme Leader, Snoke, and his Master of the Knights of Ren, Kylo.

The Knight stands so still as to almost be a statue. His chest moves around air, but nothing more. He stands – in waiting – for his Master.

"So I see you come to face me at last, Skywalker," the Supreme Leader says. "The Jedi truly do not care for their family at all, do they? You are one, after all."

"I care very deeply for my family, and for the galaxy, Snoke," Luke tells him. "That's why I've come to bring my nephew home."

"He isn't your nephew anymore."

Luke throws back his hood, and the robe falls from him. His green blade sings forth, the light bathing him in the darkness of the room. "He will always be my nephew." 

Rey steps up next to him – close, but not so close as to get in the way of that blade – and sparks her own lightsabre to life, vibrant blue the next to cut the dark. "We're here for Kylo," she says, fierce and brave and _ready_. "He isn't yours."

The terror in Poe's heart is all-consuming. _Here_. He's here, in the moment, and so is the very precise thing he fears. But… _Kylo is here too_. For the first time since the _last_ time, he's here.

They're both here, in this moment, and there can be only one response to this.

He knows it. Here, in this moment.

He knows it.

Poe steps up next to Rey – again, close, but not close enough to obstruct her blade – and pulls the sabre hilt from his belt, letting shimmering red spring out, thrumming beneath his grip, bright, deadly, determined.

"He's _mine_ ," the pilot says, with absolute surety, pointing the lightsabre blade right at Snoke. "And I have come to take him back."

Kylo doesn't – maybe? – just the slightest of flinches. Just for a moment. But that's nothing, really. No. There's a sudden _snaphiss_ as he pulls and ignites his own – his new – sabre, the blade cutting in when it's already half-way through the twirl into stance.

"You came because the Supreme Leader _willed_ it," the Knight replies, holding his juddering sabre before him. If the one Poe is holding is unstable, this one looks practically explosive. Power arcs up and down the length of it, with no vents to stabilise the current, or to keep it from overheating. He stands in a ready position, not moving until ordered to do so. 

"Show them how you have completed your training, my Knight," Snoke says.

Kylo hesitates. He looks between the three. Jedi Master – uncle. Jedi Padawan – the girl. Jed… Sit… Pil… Poe… his grip wavers, his resolve clearly not fixed on one target. "…my Master…?"

"Kill them." 

"You did this to get my attention, Snoke," Luke calls over their heads. "Are you going to ignore me, now? Or are you going to fight me, for once and for all?"

"A Master doesn't need to fight when he has an Apprentice to do it for him."

"That's a coward's answer!" Rey declares, giving her own sabre a little spin. "Why don't you stop hiding and _finish this_?!"

"Very well. I will show you the power of the Dark Side. And then you will know why Kylo Ren is forever lost to you," Snoke says, rising and drawing. A sabre in each hand, red as blood. "And you will beg for mercy, before I end your lives." 

The Leader steps forwards, and Kylo… Kylo doesn't. For a moment. His grip tightens on his sabre, his stance… almost defensive. He's waiting to see what Snoke does, waiting to take his cue.

Luke doesn't wait. Luke leaps forwards, sabre sweeping out, and then chaos breaks out as the two Jedi charge at Snoke. 

Leaving two men. One Sith… one… one… "He told me to bring you." No. Kylo bites his lip. He's not supposed to engage in discussion, he's supposed to… he points the crackling sabre-tip towards Poe, an open threat and… not. "Told me you had to be here, to watch. To see. So I could kill you." 

The whole world has vanished, Poe is sure of it. One minute, he was aware of it all: a dark room on a Star Destroyer, Luke and Rey racing up against Snoke, four weeks of hell coalescing into one bright, black, terrible instant.

And… then it all drops away. Vanishes. He knows – academically – that it's all still there. If he concentrates, he can hear the thrum of lightsabre blades crashing together, can hear footsteps and movement, a battle that could very well define a generation – much as another battle, in a room so like this one, once defined the last.

But it's all gone. All of it. All Poe Dameron sees… is Kylo Ren.

"You won't kill me," he says, softly, keeping the blade up, between them. Trying not to think about the new blade in Kylo's hand, or how incredibly much better with it he is than Poe could ever be. "You won't. He's making you say it, but you don't mean it."

"I will. And then all the Light will be gone. Then it won't hurt anymore." Kylo thrusts just slightly, trying to make a show of it, trying to get Poe to back away. To back _off_. "You are the weakness. You. You kept me from becoming who I could be. You – with your pathetic Light – thinking I was anything but who I **am**." 

Anger in his tone, confused, but there. He steps forward, brings the sabre crashing down to meet the one that lifts. " _You_ did this!" 

Instinct and horror make Poe block, make him try to stabilise his footing, to push Kylo back. He's on the defensive and he'll always _be_ on the defensive because a few weeks of practicing in a cold forest will never be enough to prepare him for this. His whole body judders as the blades lock together, and the sheer strength behind the other man's attack is breathtaking.

" _No_ ," Poe replies, with everything he's got. Which – though he rarely admits it – is a great deal. "No. _Snoke_ did this. He's a liar and a monster. He filled your head with Darkness, tried to choke the Light out of you. Stop letting him win, Kylo. You're stronger than that. Stronger than him."

"I am stronger with the Dark! It is more powerful!" Kylo insists, using both his height and his strength, bearing down and down and down and… he slides his blade towards Poe's cross-guard, using it for leverage, forcing him to step back with a powerful **shove**. 

"I have completed my training. Nothing will stop me, now. Nothing, and no one." His face is covered by his mask, but his voice comes through as ripped to pieces as anyone could ever sound. He holds his off-hand up, threatening use of the Force if need be. "You should not have come here. Who are you? A pilot. A pilot, with a deathwish. With a taste for the Dark you can't wash out of your mouth. Does your masochism make you feel any better? Is that how you sell your depravity to yourself?" 

Poe has to go with the push, but he doesn't make it easy, fighting back as long as he dares before Kylo shoves him away like that. He staggers a little, from the sheer momentum, trying to get the blade up again, between them. The only defence he has.

The words sting, but he knows where they're coming from, knows they come from the poison in Kylo's heart, the poison Snoke has put there. And… more than this, they remind Poe of how Kylo was when they first met. Full of anger, full of fire, aggressive and insistent.

But that's a good thing. Poe knows what those words, which feel so long ago now, really meant. Knows how Kylo was railing against the battle in his heart, the struggle between Light and Dark.

The fallacy of the false choice. The one he never had to make. The one he never _has_ to make.

"Yes," he answers, firm but not aggressive. Open, honest. The truth is a powerful weapon. "It does make me feel better. It helps me reconcile the Light and the Dark in my head. I may not have the Force, but I feel them. The Light, pulling me to be a hero, to sacrifice it all, to dedicate my every waking moment to the struggle for peace and justice. And… the Dark, promising me all the feelings I thought I could never have, reminding me what I can do with a ship and a crosshair, telling me it's OK to _want_. **You** showed me that, Kylo. You set me free. And I set you free."

"No," Kylo snaps back, but his voice is not one of the fervent believer, but… a conditioned cultist. He's so tired. So tired of the world being filtered through different eyes. Of one minute _this_ and the next **that**. It isn't freedom. It is just different chains.

It's all different chains. Everywhere. It's one master, or another. It's one person's voice, or it's their opponent. Back and forth and back and forth. He runs forwards again, the anger and frustration surging up, more than any moral conviction.

"The Light is weak! It is a lie! There is no such thing as _good_ ," and he slams the sabre down again. If he wanted to kill Poe, it would be easy. He knows. He sees the flaws in technique, stance, speed and posture. He sees, and he doesn't take advantage of. 

"You should **never have come here**!" I told you to run. I begged you. I made you. I can't let you see me like this. He flares, the sabre swinging multiple times, twirling and battering down at him. Never a killing blow, never even cutting the skin. He's using brute power to tire Poe's grip, to make him incapable of holding the sabre up any more. 

Poe keeps on blocking, using everything he has to deflect the blows, to push Kylo off, but it's the most he can do, and he knows it, and he's got to find some way to get through to the man before whatever-it-is that's holding him back _doesn't any more_.

"I _chose_ to come here," he replies. "I came back for you. I will always come back for you. I will always _save you_. Remember? Remember the test on Eigengrau? The dark chambers and the sliding blocks? You could have left me and you didn't. I could have left you and _I_ didn't. You were in my head, then, for the first time, and you heard me say it, and I meant it, and I still mean it."

 _"I love you,"_ he screams, across their bond, with everything he's got.

 **Peace is a lie**. No. Kylo pushes down and down with his sabre, leaning over the two, leaning over and a sudden press of… of… _it's his helmet_ that touches Poe's forehead, not his own, and the moment is **wrong** , and the Sith steps back, shoulders shaking. All of him shaking.

"You promised me you'd kill me," he snarls. "You promised me I'd never have to be this thing again. You promised me, and you betrayed me. The same as my mother, my father, my uncle. You all claim to love me, and you _let him hurt me_." Tears prick his eyes, under the helmet, but he can't kill him. He needs to, and he can't.

He can't he can't he-- eyes to the side, wishing the two Jedi clashing with the monster would either end him, or spare Kylo a swipe of their blades. Poe isn't strong enough, and even if he were… he wouldn't. Kylo should do it.

Like he should have, all those years ago. He should have seen the thing he was about to be, and run himself through with the sabre, instead of _kill all those children and revel in their deaths and hear them in his dreams for years and years and years_. 

"I said I would kill you if it had to be done," Poe replies. He's on the point of tears too, but there's nothing to hide his, and maybe that's for the best. "I have yet to see a reason, and that _monster_ does not constitute one. I would have stayed here and _died for you_ if I had to, but you… you made me run. Because you didn't want me to die any more than I want you to die."

And something just snaps into place in his mind. The last time they were here. The moment he ran.

He didn't run to get away.

He ran so he could come back.

"I love you," Poe says again, out loud this time, mind flooding with a stillness he hasn't felt in a month. "I will never stop loving you. You can attack me, you can hurt me, you can spit Snoke's vitriol at me, but it won't work, Kylo. None of it will work. You can break the whole galaxy in two but you can't stop me loving you."

Kylo's hand comes up, and he _shoves_ Poe further away with the Force, as if the distance will snap the Bond between them. The Bond he's been suppressing, pressing down hard on with all of what's left of his Light. Blocking out whatever agonies he's subjected to, keeping Poe **safe** the way no one ever could for him. Or… the best he could.

It's all been for that. It's all been for him. He chose. He chose to come here, he chose to send Poe away, and he chose to stay. He chose it, because _some things are more important than the pain_. 

His head tosses from side to side, as he tries to get the buzzing out of his head, the tears in his eyes making it almost impossible to see. Flashes – flashes of memories. Of fingers in his hair, of kisses to his cheeks, of a warm body curled against him, happy and peaceful and trusting. Of the joy he felt when Poe flew the _Falcon_ , a joy he could love even through all the painful memories of his past. No, no, no. Kylo flares again, and shoves him even harder away. Just trying to rebuild that wall, to keep them split in two.

Poe can't ever forgive him. Kylo can't ever forgive Kylo. 

" _Stop_ ," he begs, orders, both. "You have to stop. I'm not who you think I am. I was never who you thought I was. I wanted to be, but I couldn't. I couldn't. I'm sorry." He wants him to understand, needs him to. 

Kylo charges in, telegraphs his movement, and slams against his old sabre once more. He does it, and in one, last-ditch effort he lets down the wall one final time. The sabres protest between them, the crystals groaning under the pressure, as he flash-flares through all he's done for Snoke. All the blood on his hands, all the deaths. Not the torment that made him do them, just the end result. He can't prevent the ache in his chest from remembering how it felt when each life went out, and he can't keep all of his agony inside, but he does his best to make it as _Dark_ as he can.

"This is who I am, Poe. I am not your Kylo. If I was, I'm not anymore." 

Broken. He's broken. He broke. 

This is agony. Agony beyond what Poe ought to be able to process. Mental, not physical, although the physical stress of trying to hold Kylo back is pretty intense in its own right. For a moment, he can't take it, he wants to plead for mercy, he wants to beg Kylo to stop, he wants, he wants, he…

….And it all sharpens, a drop in his mind and the curious stillness of spacewalking. He doesn't know how he's doing it. Poe's been sure – utterly sure – over these last four weeks that he, too, is broken. That he broke the last time he was in this room. That he'd never be the same again, even if – even _when_ – he got Kylo back. That his world shattered here and that it could never go back to how it was before.

But it can. He knows it can.

"You are," he insists. There are two battles going on here, and whilst he might not win the physical, he _can_ win the mental. "You are. My Kylo. My love. My heart. You can keep telling yourself that you're not, to make it hurt less, but it won't work. The lie will only hurt you more."

"If you die – if I die – it won't hurt at all!" That's what Snoke has told him. Not the bit about himself dying. He's too valuable an asset. Too much time spent training him. Too much hard work gone to nothing. He's sweating, and his hands are struggling with their grip on the vibrating sword. 

"You're just a pilot. You know nothing of the Dark Side. You know nothing of power. Of pain. Of what it takes to _win_." Kylo fights. He fights himself. He fights himself so hard. If he could just get Poe to stop this farce, it's… embarrassing. To both of them. Kylo isn't sure why he can't just chop the man's whole head off, but he can't. 

" **Kneel.** Kneel for me, Dameron." The words are heavy with meaning, but his heart isn't all in the command, and it shows. 

The words cut through Poe like a knife. Like a knife dipped in the most potent poison in existence. They burn his chest. Scorch his heart. Pierce his soul.

He doesn't even _blink_.

The sabre comes up between them again, and Poe Dameron does not waver.

" _ **No**_."

"I said **KNEEL** ," Kylo yells, and this time he slams Poe in the chest with his foot, like he did on Eigengrau. Sends the man flying, and swings the sabre around in ever-fracturing sweeps and twirls, meant to intimidate and nothing more. 

"You're nothing! You can fly a ship! A droid can fly a ship! You didn't even manage that right, you had to have me save you, and _I can't even fly_. Turns out I'm better than you at the one thing you're even any good at!"

He means it. He doesn't. He does. It's…

The sabre almost slices through Poe's ear, ramming into the metal strut to the left of his head. "You can't even fight me properly, and you don't even want to win! Do you want to die, too? Is that what this is? Because if you want to, and are too afraid to, why don't you ask me? Why don't you ask me, and we both end this, now, forever?" 

It would be preferable, to all this pain. Kylo is so exhausted, so very exhausted. "Grounded little man, without his droid, without his ship. You're nothing. So give in, and let's stop this foolish dance once and for all." 

Poe staggers hard, fighting to keep his feet, fighting not to go down, not to give in. Struggling not to dwell on the very real question of how long he can keep this up.

However long it takes.

"Grounded, am I?" he throws back, firm and strong but level, too. Keeping his voice sure, not fully aggressive. "Maybe I am. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? I'm just like you were, when we first got to Eigengrau. No impressive ship, no swarm of little minions. No Force, no mask, no anything. You remember what you told me, when I called you on it? You remember, huh? Because I do. Because right now, I am what you were."

And Poe gives the blade the most impressive spin he can manage, with what limited practice he's had. " _A man with a lightsabre and a desire to win_."

That snaps Kylo's last strand of self-control, and he smashes his hilt down into the join between main blade and cross-guards, and he's – he's going to – (in his head, he angles it, gets Poe's sabre in the right place, cuts his own out and the momentum will sp--) but the Force (or physics) has other ideas, and there's a loud _crrrrkkkkkffffhhhhtttzzzzz_ as both blades flare simultaneously, the light of them going out, the plasma arcs going and the shock of it has Kylo falling forwards, just as Poe does.

Instinct. Instinct catches Poe's fall. Off-hand going to support him, preventing him from landing flat on his face. Kylo's got his left arm wrapped around him. Even through all the fabric armour, the touch… the heat… the need to _keep him safe at all costs at all costs_ … Kylo just… stops. 

Stares. He could kill him. 

He could never kill him.

He would sooner kill himself, a million times over. Burn every inhabited planet, if he has to. But he'd never – ever – kill Poe.

"I wanted to save you," Kylo says, looking down. "It was my turn." 

The suddenness of it all, the lightsabres dying like that, the momentum, the fall, the _contact_ , is more of a shock to Poe than any of the preceding violence. He knows, in this moment, that he's weaponless, that there's nothing he could do if Kylo went for him.

But he doesn't feel it. Not any of it. Not the fear, not the threat, nothing. Because they're bonded, because they're linked, because they're two halves of a whole, walking the middle line between two halves of a whole.

The certainty is breathtaking.

Poe reaches out, Kylo's arm still around him, half holding him up, and puts a hand on the side of the other man's mask, gently turning his head, so they're looking right at each other.

"Well, it's my turn again," he says, softly. "And I learned from the best."

He leans in closer still, resting his forehead against Kylo's mask, right where his forehead would be. Almost as if the mask isn't there at all.

"Wake up," Poe whispers. "Wake up, and know you're awake."

Kylo doesn't fight it, though the gesture still feels _wrong_ and at a **remove** and he hates that damn mask and when he takes it off he is never, ever, ever putting it--

\--takes-- it… off…

His eyes shut, and he knows it isn't him. The mask that's clung to his features, hiding him. A shield between his eyes and the world. So no one could see when he faltered (which was often), so no one could see when he hurt (which was more), so no one could see that, under it all, he was broken and he was so very, very **Human**. 

The arm holding Poe pulls him tighter, and he lets the stupid, broken sabre-hilt fall to the ground. Made in a hurry, much like he was. Battered into place by brute force, and not moulded and grown like a lightsabre should be. He puts a hand on the back of Poe's neck, and the words…

…wash over him… from head to toe like a rush of cold water splashed on his face, like… knowing… knowing the difference between a past and a present, between what you _chose_ and what you didn't. Knowing that some things were you, and some were not.

Knowing that there was only ever one thing he chose for himself, even if the Force pushed him a little further on, gave him a nudge, gave him a helping hand.

Poe. Love. One and the same.

Kylo goes down to one knee, a hand sliding down to find Poe's, to ask forgiveness and to ground him. He knows. He knows he was asleep. Asleep, in a nightmare he had no choice but to watch. To see his hands do things his core protested with all he had. He knows he didn't want them, and he knows what he does want. 

The wall goes completely, the terrible disconnect he'd thrown up to keep him from harm, and there's a ringing in both their heads.

" _You will never control me again_ ," Kylo tells him – tells the man who broke him twice. He pushes and pushes and something **snaps** utterly, like chains. 

**The Force shall free us**. 

He rips off his helmet, and throws it to one side. 

He looks up, and pleads. 

The moment is so breathlessly wonderful, so breathlessly perfect, that – to begin with – Poe almost can't believe it's happening. His mind simply cannot process that this thing that he has wanted with every fibre of his being for an entire month is _real_.

And then he knows it is. Knows he – too – is awake, and this is happening, and Kylo is _breaking free_ , and it's so incredible that Poe wants to shout out in joy. Even though he knows they're not out of the woods yet.

Instinct makes him clip the broken sabre hilt back to his belt, and then he pulls Kylo to his feet, stepping in close.

" _There is only passion_ ," he whispers, and kisses the man **hard**. Kisses him, and then steps back. " **Now end this**."

Kylo kisses him back, and it's – it's – he's missed him so much. Missed him so badly, but pushed that all to one side. Kept it hidden in the place where the Light has to go, so that Snoke can't sully it, not properly. Only flashes of who they are, what they did. He's denied it all so hard so Snoke wouldn't be able to use his own memories to smash him, and his knees go weak with the weight of them coming back. 

Poe. His Poe. He pulls him in close – chin over his head, and hugs him for just a moment. "I think my uncle and his Padawan need me," he says. "But I'll make sure you're safe, here."

He'll always make sure he's safe.

When Poe nods, and steps away, Kylo turns to watch the furious battle. In the distance, two red blades dance with one blue, one green. Rey – all young energy and that strangely savage peace – and Luke – all precision and control. They're fighting hard, but it's clear it's an impasse. It's a standoff, and Kylo knows they need a little chaos in the mixture. They need a little _Dark_. 

He isn't sure he's ready, and he has no sabre of his own, but he still has the Force. Shaking, just slightly, he throws two hands up and **shoves** at Snoke. The Dark Sider skitters back slightly, and then he's attacking with more fury.

"Keep out of my line of sight," Kylo yells over at them.

Luke listens. Rey struggles.

Kylo hisses, and calls into himself. He's not balanced – not right now, not properly – but he's needed. And sometimes you have to do what's needed. He reaches inside and flares out hot white lightning, arcing through onto the battlefield, charging straight at Snoke.

Snoke, who is clearly surprised by this show of strength and resistance. "Who taught you that, _boy_?"

"My grandfather, Darth Vader, and my Master, Darth Revan," Kylo calls back. "And I am no boy."

Snoke answers with lightning of his own, even as his sabres cut back and forth through the field of play, striking out at the two Jedi. "You're still weak. You've polluted yourself with the Light."

"He's made stronger, with it," Luke says, and swipes for Snoke's feet.

Kylo flares out with everything he has, with all the hope and the fear and the love and the hate. He pours both sides of himself into his lightning, letting it rain down in hot, judgemental fury. This isn't Eigengrau. This isn't a simple test chamber. This is life or death, and it's not just his life that's on the line. He needs to win, but he's so very, very tired. He tries to reach inside for more, but the Light and the Dark are guttering through sheer exhaustion.

A thought crosses his mind: _this is how Darth Vader died_. Or close enough. Facing down his old Master, electricity in the air and someone to fight for. Sometimes you have to die to do it.

Kylo doesn't want to die. He's never – he has – and he hasn't. He's thought about it, long and hard. He's wanted a freedom, but he's also wanted to hope. It's been a selfish desire to continue, a natural one, but a selfish one. His eyes flicker back to Poe, and he doesn't want to leave him. But if leaving him is the only way to – to – 

The Sith steps closer, his power clearly battered almost to nothing, the other's lightning bearing down on him, making his look more like a shield, a bubble again. No longer offensive, but defensive. Still, it takes focus away from the others, and he hopes they press on while he still has any fight left in him. Snoke is out of his head, but he's running out of power cells. 

" _If this is it,_ " he tells Poe, letting that much of his mind split from the act, " _…then I'm sorry. I love you. I have always loved you. But this monster needs to die, and I'm ready if I have to_." He hopes Poe understands that it isn't weakness that makes Kylo keep going, it's…

Luke Skywalker moves to stand between them. Kylo calls out in anguish, rushing forwards and trying to throw his protective barrier around his uncle, too. No! That isn't how it's supposed to go!

"You won't win, Snoke," says Luke, though he sounds nothing like the pain he must be in. "Balance will be restored."

"The balance of the Dark."

"The balance of **both** ," Luke says, and slams his sabre down onto Snoke's two blades. The lightning arcs only into him, and for a moment – just for a moment – the whole world stops. " _RUN_ ," comes the mental command to the pilot, the Jedi, and the Sith. 

"No!" Rey calls out, anguished and horrified, exhausted from the battle and obviously unable to quite accept what she's seeing. "No, you can't, you can't do this, I need you, we _all_ need you!"

Poe moves faster, still reeling from Kylo's words in his head, from the one horrible second when he thought he might have won the man back only to lose him again, and this time survival instinct kicks in consciously, and he's moving fast.

He races up to Kylo, grabbing hold of him from behind. "We have to go," he insists, urgently. _Hating_ the very thought of not finishing this _again_ , but understanding – this time – that it's the only way. " _We have to go!_ "

Kylo looks horrified. "I have to kill him!" Why won't he just die? Why? Luke Skywalker – the last – the **only** Jedi Master, the only _Sith_ and a Jedi in training, and they can't take him down? Kylo's hand goes for a sabre that isn't even… that… isn't…

" _You will kill him, Kylo Ren. You and Rey. But not today_." Luke's words echo, and then two red blades snick through the air, finding nothing between them.

Luke is gone. Kylo knows it. Kylo **knows** it. He reaches out with the Force to call his old Master's sabre to him, and he screams out loud: " _RUN_." 

The room feels strange, with Luke gone. Almost like he isn't. Snoke snarls after them, somehow held in place and unable to act. Kylo isn't going to ask why, or how, dragging Poe by the hand and knowing Rey will follow them as they charge towards the hangar bay. 

They run. All three of them run: Jedi, Sith, Pilot. They run because they know they have to, not because they want to. They run before Snoke can do anything, charging out of the throne room and into the corridors beyond. A few First Order soldiers try to stop them, but… there's duty, and then there's two Force-users with lightsabres and a furious-looking pilot with a blaster, and there aren't many who dare go near them.

They make it back to the hangar bay with surprising ease, though there's a few troopers waiting who decide to try intervening.

They don't last. It's hard to stand against the whirl of lightsabre blades and blaster-bolts.

And finally, the three make it back to the two Interceptors, still sitting where they were left.

"We need to go quick," Poe says, urgently. "Rey, take the second ship, stay close when we get out there. If they activate the interdiction field…"

"…We'll worry about that if it happens," she insists.

"I'll control every last mind on this ship until it's off, if I have to," Kylo snarls, though he sounds weaker than he should. Fighting off lightning and mind control yourself has that effect. He climbs into the gunner's position, strapping in and finding the controls ready, just in case.

Rey races over to the second ship, climbing in, and Poe immediately leaps up into the first, closing the hatch with a thunk and powering everything up as fast as he knows how.

And… Kylo is with him. Here. In this ship. _Here_. He keeps remembering all over again and catching himself because it's real, it's _real_ , it's not a dream, not a fantasy, he's not going to wake up alone in the dark…

"I love you," he gasps out. "I love you so damn much."

Kylo, behind him, smiles just slightly. He's still a bit shell-shocked, and just watched his uncle die, so he's not as vocal as he might otherwise be. Instead, he offers the faintest of mental touches: a reassurance, and a reaffirmation. He loves him, too, but he's tired and he wants to go home. Home, to lick his wounds. 

Poe brings the ship up, off the deckplates, immediately making for the hangar bay exit, checking his scope to make sure that Rey is right behind them. As they go, he powers up the hyperdrive, and – for the first time – lets himself see the hyperspace co-ordinates he came from. The location of the beta site.

Maybe when they get back, someone will tell him what it's called.

The two ships soar out of the hangar bay, into the black, and Poe gets on the radio at once, on the local band to the second ship. "We have to go now!" he says, to Rey.

"Agreed," she replies. She sounds like she's barely holding it together.

But she _is_ holding it together.

"The interdiction field isn't powered up yet," Poe says. "Go now! Punch it!"

Neither of them needs telling twice. They hit the controls on their respective ships in unison, and both Interceptors jump into hyperspace.

They're away. They're out.


	36. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return. :-)
> 
> We truly hope yesterday's chapter _was_ everything you were waiting for. Today, we bring you the aftermath. And... the first hints of what comes next...

As the TIE-Interceptor hurtles through hyperspace, Poe finds himself a little lost for words.

He doesn't know what to say. What do you say? What do you say when you're in a stolen enemy fighter flying back to a planet whose name you don't even know, with the love of your life whom you've been apart from for four weeks, because said love of your live has been held in thrall by the most evil, hateful being you've ever encountered?

What do you say?

"…So… some things happened after… after you were gone," he starts out.

"You found my uncle, for one," Kylo replies, his voice… half-way cracking, half-way feeling nothing at all. "And Rey got a lightsabre." 

He has hold of Luke's. He's not let go. He doesn't need to hold the controls, so he's cradling it in his lap. Wishing he didn't have it. Wishing Luke was over in the other ship, wishing he could feel him through the Force. "Anakin's. If I'm not mistaken. The one he had… before." 

"So I'm told," Poe replies. "Rey's gotten used to it now, but she was really freaked out the first time when… ah… OK, there's something else you need to know before I say anything else. The day after I… after I first got back to D'Qar… your father showed up."

Kylo stops breathing. He does. His hands tighten harder on the hilt, so hard he thinks he'll shatter it in his grip. "…I… see…" 

He doesn't ask the questions brimming in his mind, and Poe likely doesn't even need the Bond between them to feel them. He waits, for a minute, to see what Poe will volunteer on his own. It's still an interrogation technique, after all. Just a less violent one.

"…He'd been told you were with us," Poe explains. "There was a woman called Maz Kanata. She knew Master Skywalker – I think he had called to her through the Force. And she also knows… knows your father. She got him to come to her, and he brought her to D'Qar, and… she's the one who brought Rey the lightsabre."

A pause. "He's still with us. He and Chewbacca. They'll be at the base when we arrive."

"Should I be wearing Phasma's armour again?" Kylo asks, trying for joking and failing miserably. It's clear he wants nothing less than to face Han Solo. "I left my mask behind. Maybe I can try to hide behind you. If I pick you up and carry you, they'll just think you grew a lot." 

"It's going to be OK," Poe says, softly. "Solo… your father… he was… he was upset when he first found out what had happened. But… I think he's at least reconciled to the idea of your new path. And… us."

"You won't be the problem, Poe. It's me who's the galactic disappointment to him. And now I just got his best friend killed." Kylo bangs his head back against the chair. "…we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Soon. Very soon.

"…I'll… I… when we… get to D'Qar, I need…" to talk to you. Face to face. Not with my back to you. 

"We're… we're not going to D'Qar," Poe admits, feeling almost bad about not having mentioned this part yet. "After… after you were taken… we moved. We were scared that Snoke might find out where we were. So… we went elsewhere. I don't even know the name of the planet. I wouldn't let them tell me, in case… in case he managed to get into my head again. This is the first time I've left the system in a month."

"Oh." That makes sense. "Well. You did a good job, because I didn't know. And it was the right thing to do. I…" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't know for certain what I told him, and what I didn't. It got… confusing. I… wasn't… always sure what was real, any more. More than once I thought--" no. Stop. 

"…thank you. For… for coming for me. For… everything, Poe. I mean it. I'll say it properly when I can look you in the eyes, but…" No, keep it together, Kylo. He forces his voice back half-controlled, the emotion threatening once more. "…thank you. You saved me. Again. It's becoming something of a habit for you." 

Poe reaches back, trying to find Kylo's hand. He's almost scared to do it, because he knows how _he_ felt after only a very short time with Snoke, and he knows that what Kylo has been through will have been… infinitely, infinitely worse.

But he can't not. He needs to touch the other man, even if just glancingly.

"You don't ever have to thank me," he whispers. "I've thought of nothing but getting you back since the moment I lost you."

"I do have to thank you," Kylo insists. "You came back for me. You… came back. Even knowing what he could do to you. And you didn't give up on me, even… even after I…" 

He can't reach properly, so he brushes against his mind, instead. His touch is less controlled than it has been, more… disjointed and ragged, but it's a kind one, even so. Like a hand struggling not to shake. "I just needed to keep you safe. I couldn't let him… do to you what he… what he'd done to me. Not any more. I would have died a hundred times before I… Poe, I'm so _sorry_." 

"Don't apologise," Poe replies, softly. "Not for that monster. Not for anything he did. Just… hold on, OK? I'm taking you home."

He can't think about the rest, yet. It's too much to process all at once. Weeks of constant pain, shattering all in an instant. Plus, he's just watched the greatest hero in modern galactic history _die_ , and that's… that's a whole different thing, and…

Home. There's that word again. Kylo doesn't even know where they're going, and nor does Poe, really. A planet, but one with people on. People… _family_. His mother. His… father. Chewie. Poe's squadron. People. 

Kylo thinks he'd be going home if Poe flew him to Nar Shaddaa, to the filthiest slum in the dirtiest part of the deepest levels of the worst city. If Poe was there, he'd feel safe. 

"I love you," he says, voice careful, considered, but no less genuine. "I'll never say it enough. But I do. Just… get me home so I can hold you and never let go again, please?" 

Poe bites his lip, trying to hold himself together. "I love you too. And… where we're going… you'll be safe. We will _all_ keep you safe."

There's very little he's certain of right now. But this part? This part, he is.

He has to be.

***

The two Interceptors drop back out of hyperspace just above the beta site planet. Poe's seen it like this plenty of times, but somehow it looks different, today. Brighter. _Greener_.

Probably still cold, though.

He pings the radio at once, needing to check on Rey. Concerned for her, too.

"You doing all right over there?"

"…I'm still alive, if that's what you mean," she replies, her voice a little too level. "The rest… ask me again later."

"…Copy that. And… seconded. I'm going to contact ground control for landing clearance."

Which… is going to be fun, on account of the part where he _did_ run off _again_.

Deep breath.

"Ground control, this is Black Leader…"

"…Dameron, you son of a bitch!" comes Snap's voice. "I'm going to nail your boots to the floor when I get hold of you!"

"…That's fair," Poe concedes. "Can we at least have landing clearance?"

"Copy that. Lighting the pads up now."

"…That could have gone worse…" Poe mutters, as the channel closes.

He brings the first Interceptor swooping down towards the planet below, Rey following near behind. The clouds are light as they drop lower, the light of morning bathing the continent they're heading for. And it isn't long until the base itself comes into view, and Poe feels a strange lurch in his chest, as if he's seeing the place for the first time. As if it's… different now.

The two ships land, side by side, from the same pads they left behind mere hours ago. When they're down, Poe cuts the power to the Interceptor, taking a deep breath again.

Trying to find some way to be ready for this.

He cracks the hatch, and climbs out. On the landing concourse beyond, people are already coming running, racing down from wherever they've been to here. Most of the pilots are in the lead, their faces set with concern and apprehension as they come to a halt, staring.

Waiting. All of them. Even Snap, right at the front, doesn't speak, as if he doesn't quite dare.

And that's when Poe turns, helping Kylo down from the Interceptor, holding onto him, and staying in front of him a little, just like the first time. They must look quite a pair, and he knows it, but… they're here. Both of them.

There are soft gasps and stunned whispers from the watching crowd. And… then Snap breaks into applause, firm and heartfelt: not jubilant, because they don't know what's happened yet, but still full of meaning. The other pilots join in within seconds, and before anyone knows it the whole concourse is ringing with the sound.

And… then the second Interceptor opens, and Rey clambers out, staggering over, obviously exhausted. And… alone.

Everything goes silent.

Kylo cringes. It's nice to be on a planet – a real one – and to be with Poe, but he can sense everyone's unease, their apprehension, and the very real gap where a Jedi Master should be. Poe left with a Jedi, and returned with a Sith. And he knows – oh he knows – that no one would pick him over Luke. Except maybe Poe. But that is an emotional thing, and not a logical, battle-ready thing.

He grabs Poe's hand, panicking, and wanting to run. Wanting to leap back into the TIE and beg him to fly him as far away as possible. This is _worse_ than the first time. This time, he's actually a personal disappointment, and not just a face behind a mask that no one's seen before. This time, he's betrayed them all.

"Poe…" His voice wavers. " _Please get me out of here before someone shoots me in the head_." He's holding Luke's sabre. Maybe they even think he killed him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

"It's OK," Poe insists, speaking out loud without really thinking about it. A little out of the habit of being able to use their bond. "It's OK."

"Get Solo and Organa," Snap says, to the closest soldier. "Quick. Finn, too."

And then he takes a step forward, looking at the three of them, but speaking to Poe first and foremost. "What happened? You got Kylo back… you… how did you do it?"

"It's… we need General Organa…" Poe manages. He's vaguely aware that the shock is kicking in at last, and he tightens his hold on Kylo as if terrified something might pull them apart again.

"…I'm right here, Poe," comes Leia's voice, as she moves quickly through the crowd – having obviously already been en route when the soldier went running for her. "I'm…"

And then she sees. She stops dead at the front of the crowd, clearly not knowing what to do and… clearly already knowing more than most people here. Which if she has… _had_ … a bond with her brother, isn't a surprise.

She has Han with her, too, and instinct makes her grab his hand.

"…Kylo?" Leia whispers.

Kylo looks… looks like a man who is simultaneously in his early thirties, and a boy much younger. Perhaps it's because he's seeing both of his parents – and Chewie – together, or perhaps it's something else, entirely. He holds onto Poe's hand, tight, needing the reassurance and…

…tugs him along without any hesitation as he goes up to his parents. "Mom… Dad…"

Run, run, run, run. That's what the voice says. It's _his_ voice, he knows. He knows there's only his and Poe's inside his head right now, which means he – whatever he does…

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, and holds out Luke's sabre to Leia. He doesn't deserve it. He really doesn't deserve it. 

Off to the side, an ex-trooper looks at the Organa-Solo-Damerons for a moment, then darts past them to grab Rey in a tight hug. Finn's sure she needs it. 

He's obviously right, because Rey just wraps her arms around him and holds on, not out of disrespect for what's unfolding close by, but because – right now – she's obviously not scared to admit how much she needs this. How much she needs _him_.

Leia, meanwhile, stares down at the sabre hilt that Kylo holds out to her. She looks like her heart is breaking. Like she knows precisely what's happened, but somehow it hasn't become real until this moment. She closes her eyes for a second, a tear streaking down her cheek, and then… she takes the sabre, before immediately pulling Kylo into a hug.

Kylo barely hesitates before he wraps his arms around her. He dwarfs her by a considerable margin, but it's hard to say who needs the comfort more. The mother, with her son, and her missing twin; or the son, with his mother, and his missing uncle. She tucks her head under his, and he takes a shuddery breath, fighting tears.

A hand claps on his shoulder. Han. Han holds it there for a second, before he grabs his boy by the back of his neck and pulls his head down to press against his own. "Ben…"

"Kylo," he corrects him, gently. 

Han flinches, but then he feels a hand on his own upper arm, and nods. "You came home."

"I came home." 

Chewie throws his head back and calls out loudly, then a furry arm is around the pilot and no one can stop a Wookiee who wants to wrap four people up in his arms. No one. 

Poe is still surprised, to be gathered up like that. He's not even sure who's pressing into him where, just that he's being held, and that Kylo is there in amongst it all, and Leia and Han, both of whom Poe absolutely adores (certain heated moments aside, in the latter's case) and… if only he hadn't just gotten Luke Skywalker _killed_ , this moment would be perfect, and…

…No. No. He did not just get Luke Skywalker killed. Luke Skywalker was the master of his own destiny, and what he did, he did to save the three of them. Kylo, Poe, and Rey. He saved them, so they could come back here, alive, safe. So Rey and Finn could be wrapped in each other the way they still are. So Poe could realise that he really _is_ part of this incredible, insane family now.

It is tragic. It is a terrible loss. But it is no one's fault.

"I'm sorry," Kylo says, again, muffled into someone's hair. He's crying, and he's glad no one outside can see, because it hurts, it hurts so badly. "I tried to stop it. I tried to save him. I couldn't. I'm sorry…"

"Kid… you stop beating yourself up, okay?" Han's just as emotional, even though he's not so good at showing it as others in the family. "It's about damn time someone saved you for a change."

Which is when the dam breaks into a wounded howl of pain, and Kylo cries so loudly that everyone in the immediate vicinity becomes very much aware of how badly things went. "I tried, I tried! I'm so sorry! Dad, Mom…"

"Shhh. Ben. K…Kylo…" It's going to take the older man some getting used to. "He went there to get you back. Don't you blame yourself for that. He went to get you, and he did."

Kylo nods, but it isn't fully sinking in. Maybe later. But right now, the memory of how it felt for Luke's Light to go out, in front of his eyes, it's just too much. On the heels of breaking free, being ready to throw his life down for Snoke's defeat, Poe saving him… he just can't process it all at once, and it hurts too much. " _Don't go anywhere. Please. Please don't. Poe…_ " 

" _I won't, I won't, I'm staying right here,_ " Poe replies, remembering to use the bond this time. Keeping the words between them.

"Kylo," Leia whispers. "Kylo, it's OK. You're home." She holds onto him even tighter, her whole body shuddering with emotion, with the mixture of pain and grief, and a joy so bright it shines like a star. "My boy. My boy…"

"Please…" Kylo begs, "…not here. I need…" finding Poe's hand, grabbing it, holding it so hard the bones grind. "…inside. I… it's…" It isn't for everyone to hear. 

Han pulls back first, pushing Chewie off, too. "You heard the boy. C'mon." He looks around, and… "On the _Falcon_?" It's close enough by, and it's private. 

Kylo hesitates, then nods. He's been on the ship already. He can manage again. "Yes. Yes."

Han throws a gesture to Snap, suggesting they all make themselves scarce, then a second gesture to Finn and Rey, indicating that they follow. Then he clears his throat, and leads the way onto his ship. 

Snap takes the hint and starts corralling everyone else off, whilst Leia, Chewie, Kylo, Poe, Rey and Finn all follow Han up into the _Falcon_.

When they're on board, when they're alone – as alone as you can be with seven people – Poe wraps his arms around Kylo and just holds him. He hasn't had the chance to do it just himself yet, and he needs to, and even if it's only for a moment, it will help. And… he's assuming, from the very involved hugging that's just taken place, that Kylo is at least OK with some physical contact. Which… also helps.

"What happened?" Leia asks at once. She's still holding Luke's lightsabre hilt tightly in one hand, and she glances down at it as she speaks, eyes full of grief.

"We… went after Kylo," Poe starts, softly. "I woke in the middle of the night with a location in my head – a planet, a system. Numedia. I was going to come and tell you, but… Master Skywalker found me first. He said we had to go straight away. He already knew. So… we went. He, and Rey… and me."

Kylo very much appreciates the contact, arm around Poe's waist, pressing against him with every inch that will reach. He's been touch-starved for a month, and Poe's warmth is reassuring and grounding. Something to focus on, something to keep him here and now. He doesn't add anything, not yet, because… because. A lot of it is still a mess inside of his head.

Finn already knows this part, and he's holding Rey's hand under the holo-table, where they're sitting. They make less contact, but it's no less important. 

"That asshole couldn't even tell us he was going," Han complains, but weakly. "Probably knew if he did, then we'd all insist on coming along." 

Chewie points out even the _Falcon_ wouldn't be able to sneak up on the _Decimator_. Kylo translates silently for Poe, along with a comment that he's going to need to learn Wookiee. 

"So… did you… is he gone?" Han asks, looking like he thinks he knows the answer and doesn't like it. 

Kylo shakes his head. "No. Uncle Luke and Rey… they fought him. When… when Poe broke me from his control, I tried to use lightning, but I… was too weak." He winces. "He was going to kill me." 

"Master Skywalker stood in the way," Rey chips in, softly. "He didn't even flinch. He just… said that balance would be restored. That… that we would kill Snoke eventually. And then… then both of Snoke's lightsabre blades went _through_ him and he was just… he was just… _gone_."

There are tears in her eyes, and she grips Finn's hand so tightly it must hurt.

Leia nods, just slightly. "I see. He… must have known all along what he was going to do."

"Like Obi-Wan," Kylo says, and shudders. He doesn't like the thought of being protected like this, although he also does. It's complicated. He would much rather Luke hadn't died at all. He isn't sure the sacrifice is worth it, in the grand scheme of things. But if it's true that it's the only way to kill Snoke… or why else would Luke and Rey not have managed it?

He hadn't exactly been helping Snoke. Just running away from Poe. 

Han's jaw works, and he puts a hand on Leia's shoulder. "So that… the… Force-stuff?"

"…if you mean the man inside of my head, corrupting me since I can remember being able to think?" Kylo asks, with a sliver of self-deprecating snark. "He's gone. As far as I can tell, he's gone for good. Poe… Poe helped me push him out. And I don't know if he can ever get back in, now. Of course, we'll only have time to tell for sure, but… at the minute… it feels like I'm back on Eigengrau." 

"…Eigen… what?" Han's nose wrinkles.

"The planet of the Sith training chambers," Kylo answers. "The planet where I learned I… I can be a Sith, and not want to commit mass genocide." Pause. "Or even minor genocide."

"That's the place you and Poe went to," Finn says. "You think Rey should go?"

Kylo's head snaps to her, and he shakes it, firmly. "No. Not yet, anyway. And I'm not sure if someone who is more on the Jedi side of the balance than the Sith side would… escape intact. Which is not to belittle her power, but to say it… is focussed differently." 

Rey doesn't argue with this. She's heard some stories about Eigengrau from Poe and – though it's still possible she might go there one day, it's obvious that now is not the time. Or even close.

Poe, meanwhile, looks at Kylo. "You're sure?" he says, not quite daring to believe it. "You're sure Snoke is out of your head for good?"

"I'll never be sure until he's dead, Poe. Not one hundred percent. And that's probably for the best, so I keep my guard up. But I…" Kylo grabs his arm. "When… I… sent you away. I would never have… managed that before. And while… while we were apart… he kept trying to make me give you up, or call you in, or… hurt you. And I… I couldn't stop _everything_ he made me do, but I stopped a **lot**."

A lot more than he will ever admit to anyone, even Poe. Some things are just not meant to be heard, Kylo thinks.

"I didn't – I couldn't – push him all the way out, but then, when I thought you were going to get hurt… it was like a door. In my head. It was like it opened, and I could go through it, and shut it on the other side. It's…" How do you explain something that is wordless, thoughtless, formless? How do you explain the way your head has worked for decades, when you thought it was normal, or the only way? "…I think… he's gone. It's like… there was a song playing. But it played all the time, so I thought it was… how the universe sounded. And then your song slammed into my head, and now I can't hear his anymore." 

All Poe can do at this is wrap his arms tighter around Kylo, pressing in close. Letting himself fall apart a little, now he knows he can. Not fully, never fully – partly because it's in front of people, and partly because he has to stay strong for Kylo – but at least slightly.

He is so very, very tired. He feels like he hasn't slept in a month.

"If you're free of him at last," Leia starts out, carefully, "that means… you can stay here?"

Here, with us. The hope in her voice is unveiled now.

" _I told you from the start I would keep you safe_ ," Kylo tells his lover, dropping his chin onto his head, curling around him and tucking Poe in so he can let him feel it. His eyes shut for a moment, and he nods at his mother.

"I don't think I'm a risk. Or… an unmanageable risk. If it changes, or if I… start to act erratically, or I think he's back in my head, then that might need re-assessing," the Sith replies. 

"You need to train Rey," Finn points out. "I mean. You're the only one left. If Luke Skywalker thought you two needed to do this together, you're gonna have to work out a way to do it, right?"

Kylo flinches. "…I… ah…"

"Hold it, Speederbike," Han tells Finn. "Maybe let him have at least a day off, first."

"…yeah. Sorry."

"No… you're right. I… probably do need to train her. Just… I need to recover my own strength, first. I was weakened by Snoke, and then fighting him before I was ready…" Kylo flinches. He wonders if his impetuous need to kill him is why Luke is dead, but he'll never know for sure. 

"I think it's what Master Skywalker wanted," Rey chips in. "He said things to me, every now and then; things that didn't quite make sense at the time, but… I think he knew what was going to happen. Maybe not in perfect detail, maybe not precisely when, but… he knew. And… it's what I want. I want to learn from Kylo. I… I need to."

"Then that is what you must do," Leia agrees. "When Kylo is ready. We may not have won this yet, but I think you bought us some breathing room. Time to step back, to take stock. To… prepare for what comes later. To… recover from what has happened."

She leans in closer to Han, gripping his arm. Still obviously in shock, but dealing with it, little by little.

"Not to mention I need to make another lightsabre," Kylo sighs. "I seem to have a habit of destroying them." Which is probably for the best, in the long run. He doesn't feel like he should use Luke's. It… felt wrong in his hand.

Han starts. "…you… broke it?"

"Two of them." Kylo smiles, but it isn't a happy smile. "Stopped me and Poe from killing one another, though."

Chewie roars something encouraging, making Han wince. "All right. All right. I… wait here." He vanishes, going somewhere else on the ship. Everyone but Chewie seems surprised.

A few minutes later, Han re-emerges. He has a small, cylindrical object, wrapped in oilskin. "Maz told me I'd know what to do with this. I did suggest something, but apparently it was oafish." He winks to Leia, a soft teasing.

Kylo frowns, and lets go of Poe for just a moment. He walks over, and Han unwraps a hilt of silver and black. Smooth, military, precise. A soldier's weapon, and one of efficient beauty and fine craftsmanship. Kylo hisses in surprise, and hesitates. "…that's…"

"Your grandfather's," Han agrees, and holds Darth Vader's sabre out to him. 

Kylo looks terribly drawn, like someone seeing something they know is right. His hand hesitates, then he takes it up. There were myths about the first weapons, because plasma blades were born from the Dark. Early Sith made the first, and it was rumoured even holding one could turn a Jedi to evil. That was why both sides perfected their own, and one of the reasons why the Sith maintain their red crystal habit.

He twirls it, like it was always meant to sit in his hand. The weighting is perfect, and he barely needs to consider his grip on it. His thumb slides over the ignition in mid-swirl, and then he holds it in both hands. The red glow flickers over his face, and Han's. It hisses much more quietly between them than Kylo's old blade ever could, and he waits until Han meets his eyes and… he sees… understanding? 

The blade hisses out to nothing, and he hooks the hilt to his belt. Kylo… dips his head, just slightly, in respectful gratitude. 

"You're gonna use that how it should have been used, kiddo," Han says, obviously fighting the memories of when he's seen it lit before. "You're gonna make us all proud."

"I will try." 

Poe still can't believe what he's seeing. The re-appearance of Luke Skywalker's first sabre, a month ago, had been enough of a shock. But he'd never stopped to think that Maz Kanata might have had _two_ of them. That, hidden away, waiting for Kylo to come back, was…

…Darth Vader's lightsabre. Because, of course, Luke's first lightsabre was also _Anakin's_ first lightsabre. Anakin's, now in Rey's hands, just as Vader's is now in Kylo's.

Light. Dark. Jedi. Sith. Then. Now. _Balance_.

It's so _right_ , Poe can hardly breathe.

"…how do you even break a lightsabre?" Finn asks, when the moment gets too… strangely tense. 

"With great difficulty, usually," Kylo answers. "But mine… my first was unstable, to say the least. My second was worse, because I made it in a hurry. And I was… even less balanced when I did so. It's probably a small wonder it didn't explode in my hand and set fire to me."

"You know, now I'm twice as glad you have that one," Han says, with a roll of his eyes. 

"As am I. Although…" Kylo looks over to Poe, who is still wearing his broken, first hilt. "My Apprentice managed incredibly well with it, even without the Force." 

"Your… what?" Han glares over at Poe. "Not you, too?"

"I'm not Force-sensitive," Poe insists. He's confident he's said this about a thousand times, but clearly the universe just likes hearing him repeat it. "I'm really not. But… I did complete the tests on Eigengrau. Mostly. I mean, I had help from Kylo for some of them. I still got to the end, though… which technically makes me a Sith too."

Adding 'because Darth Revan said so' seems a little churlish at this point, so he doesn't.

Even if she did.

"Ay, ay, ay…" Han throws his hands up in despair. "So, two Sith and a sort-of-Jedi?"

"You only had one Jedi when you took on the Empire," Kylo points out. "And I know the enemy. I _know_ him. I know his fleet, his tactics, his troopers, and his…" a swallow. "His Knights."

"I know a lot about the First Order, too," Finn adds.

"Yes. And… it's possible we may be able to sway some of my Knights back." Kylo isn't sure, but he thinks he'd like to try. No. He knows he _owes_ it to them, to try. "Even if they all reject me, they deserve a fighting chance. The First Order rips children from their families, and – and they are just cannon-fodder for Snoke. We have to take down the top of the chain, and then save as many below as we can."

Han blinks. He clearly wasn't expecting – on some level – that kind of a plan, or that level of empathy. "All right. We can start planning--" 

"…The planning can wait a little," Leia cuts in, gently. "Kylo needs time to recover from this. So, I think, do Poe and Rey. They have all been through something world-changing. But… we have time, now. Time to allow for healing. We're safe here…"

She looks over at Poe, and smiles. Obviously realising – a second before he does – that there's something she can say, now. At last.

"…here on Tahanan."

Poe actually gasps a little. It's just the name of a planet, but finally being able to hear it… something about that makes him realise just how real all this is.

They did it. Maybe not the way everyone would have wanted, but… they did.

He did.

And he's here, with Kylo, in the moment, and it's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, this is the last part of the current updateathon, so we'll be going back to our usual every-other-day schedule. As a result, we'll be back on Wednesday!
> 
> Before we go, we'd like to share this gorgeous piece of art with you. It was drawn for us on commission by the amazing [@lupotterdraws](http://lupotterdraws.tumblr.com/). We've had it for a while now, but we've had to wait until this very chapter to share it with you, given that it includes Kylo with Vader's lightsabre. So, at long last, take a look!
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Catch you all on Wednesday! :-)


	37. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, dear readers. We're back! Today, we bring you something we haven't brought you in a while: smut!
> 
> Also some serious stuff. Because of reasons. But _then_ smut.
> 
> Speaking of smut, meet us at the end of this chapter for some bonus NSFW content... ;-)

Before Leia agrees to let Kylo out of her sight, she insists on him getting checked over by the medical team. Poe won't leave his side all the way through, but he stays quiet, letting the medics work. The results are as Poe expected: minimal physical damage. It really isn't a surprise.

The damage isn't physical. He knows that.

When it's done, Leia quietly directs them to the quarters she's set aside for Kylo. For them both, really. Poe is in no hurry to return to his own, given all the memories they hold, and given that they have 'Numedia – Sette Gamma' carved into the wall.

Instead, Leia has found them somewhere much like the space they shared for that one glorious night on D'Qar. A lone block, separate from the main barracks, equipped for two. Poe has known, on some level, that this is where they would end up when he got Kylo back, which is precisely why he's avoided going near the place before.

But he can now. He takes Kylo up to it, leading him inside.

Away from everyone else. Where… both of them need to be, right now.

When they're alone at last, Kylo feels strangely… not on edge, but not relaxed, either. It's not that Poe is in any way a threat (he is the absolute opposite of that), it's the other things. The things he knows, the things he's aware of, that no one else really is.

He's suffered their checks, and their hands and instruments on him. He's been scanned for trackers. He's submitted to their superficial tests, and he's been passed as 'fine'. Even though he knows he's anything _but_ fine. And he knows – on some level – that eventually he's going to have to face up to the things that are broken, but he's not sure you can do that overnight. Not even in a week, or a month.

And whenever his mind tries to look at it, it baulks, and his attention skitters elsewhere. But in all the other rooms there's the low-level buzz of voice, thought, instrument. Here, in their… home? It's just him and Poe.

Him and Poe, and no one else inside his head. It's both liberating and terrifying, in equal measure. Now any mistakes he makes, he'll make for himself. There's no more excusing, and there's no more man in Dark to hide behind. Just… himself. Not even a mask.

His fingers reach for Poe's hand, and he pulls him very carefully closer. Slow, slow… and then he slips arms around him, again. Arms around him, and a head on his shoulder, and breath against his neck, his ear. Holds him, and sways them both, just slightly, as if he can hear some distant, slow music. 

"I missed you so much." It goes without saying, and it also can't be said enough. "I missed you. My whole life, I've been alone. Cut off from everyone, and everything. Kept in shadows. In Darkness. It was worse, knowing there was someone out there, and not being able to risk reaching for you. You were my weakness, but you were my strength, even more." Other hand cradling his head, keeping him as close as possible. "I knew I had to keep fighting, for you. On Akiva. I knew. I knew he would kill me, if I kept it up. And I knew I would keep going as long as possible. If I didn't know you were out there, waiting…" 

Poe curls in tight, when he's sure Kylo is OK with it. Sure he wants it. He curls in and holds on and _holds on_ and… he tries to remember the last time they were able to be like this. Just together, just close. It must have been… Jakku. Or, technically, on the shuttle _above_ Jakku, before they went in search of Rey and Finn. It feels like an age ago now.

"I waited every second of every day," he whispers in reply. "I tried to keep going. Tried to work, tried to sleep, tried to live. Even flying wasn't enough. I could just… feel a void, right at my core. Like half of me was missing. And the nightmares, the flickers, the… all of it… I don't know how I didn't go insane weeks ago."

Maybe he did, a little. Or a lot.

"I'm sorry," Kylo says, and his heart hurts. He brushes gently against him, against his mind. No force to it, no malice. Just an opening of his own feelings to Poe's. They already feel much without trying, but letting himself amplify it means the sensation is keener, brighter. "I hated doing it to you. I hated sending you away. But if you'd been there… the things he would have done to you… I would have broken. I would have broken, and given him everything, just to keep you safe. I'd have given him D'Qar. I'd have given him the whole Resistance. And I knew… as long as you weren't there… as long as you were somewhere else… I had hope."

His face turns, just a light brush of lips against Poe's temple. "He made me do things. I did as little as I could. You… know what I mean. He made me kill. He made me hurt. I tried to do it painlessly. They were dead already, by the time I saw them. There was no way for me to save them, and he knew I hated that, too. And I knew if I didn't, if I resisted… I knew he'd find someone else to warp into place, instead. The longer he focussed on me, the… he… if he'd got his hands on another child, Poe, I…" 

He's shaking at the very thought of it, the chill down his spine. "I have to get better. Fast. So he doesn't find a replacement to torment me with, or to break." 

Poe pulls him in even closer, arms wrapping up and around, trying to be as protective as possible. This is difficult to pull off when you are so much shorter than the person you're trying to hold, but he does his best. He knows he himself is shaking, and that he can't hide it, but maybe it's wise to be honest about these things, even though he doesn't want to think about himself right now. He just wants to focus on his lover.

"I know, I know," he whispers. "I don't blame you for any of it. Not a thing, Kylo. Not a thing. Look in my head if you need proof of that. I mean it. What happened… what he made you do… that was Snoke. That wasn't you. He's the monster. He's the one I hate. He's the murderer. You… are the victim in all of this."

"I kept telling myself that if I was just stronger, I wouldn't. If I was stronger. I'd have died, instead of let him do it to me. I'd have killed myself, first…" Kylo wraps tighter, inside, and out. He doesn't need to pry through things, because Poe is shouting them loud and clear. "I thought if I gave in, then the pain would go away. But it never did. It never got better. And he… he made me do things so bad that everyone would turn from me, and he made me ashamed to admit it…"

Poe knows most of this, anyway, but Kylo needs to say it. Needs to say it aloud, here, where no one else can hear. "I said to myself: my uncle wouldn't give in. My mother. My father. I said to myself: I couldn't be a hero, because a hero would die, first. But I didn't want to die. I was afraid to die. I wanted to live, even though every breath hurt to take. I fought him, and I didn't even know what I was fighting _for_. And I gave in, but I-- I still… I knew… it was wrong. I… knew, as sure as I knew gravity. And knowing didn't help. It just made it hurt worse. I couldn't fight. I couldn't surrender. I just… ripped slowly in two, and it hurt so bad that some days I…" Tighter. Tighter. Tightest.

"…please tell me it will stop hurting. Please. The things I did to survive… tell me I can stop it hurting, if I do enough _good_ …" 

"It will stop hurting," Poe tells him, with a shudder of mental pain. He knows some of what Kylo has been through over the last month. He does not know it all. But what he knows is… already too much. It makes what he himself has been through seem tiny in comparison, but it also _doesn't take away_ any of what he's been through, and trying to deal with the two at once…

"It will stop hurting." Again. More determined this time. "Kylo… the things _he_ did to _you_ … you do understand… you're… you're the victim in all this. You don't have to apologise for what you did to survive. He drove you to it. He wanted to break you down, break you apart, so he could use you for his own purposes. That's…"

Scary words. Scary words, that need to be said. "…that's what abusers _do_ , Kylo."

Kylo starts to shake, when Poe says the word. The word he knows is true, but which he's also been blocking out as surely as his need to change. Admitting… even to himself… what's happened is terrifying, and horrible, and… necessary. His hands grab wherever they touch, and he shouldn't be breaking down. Shouldn't. He promised he'd keep Poe safe. Promised. And he's falling apart the minute he gets him home.

"I just want the pain to stop," he whispers. "I want to undo everything he did to me. I want to bring back everyone I killed. I want to go back, and I want to – before it – before…" But you can't. You can't wipe away what happened. He knows, and it's awful, and no matter what he does in the future, what he did in the past will always _have_ happened.

He starts to cry again, but silently. Eyes leaking, dripping hot rain down onto Poe's head and shoulders. He can't go back. He can't save Ben. Ben is gone, because Snoke did this. Ben is gone because Ben could never survive. Ben _did_ die, first, in a way. Kylo exists only because of that strength, that was also a weakness. The only way to keep going when the world wants you to shear into two, to make an impossible non-choice, to go against nature itself.

Ben died. Ben was destroyed. Kylo killed him, and it was the first death on his hands. He killed him, and now he has to mourn him. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, again. "And I'm going to keep saying it. Because I keep feeling it. And because maybe if I say it enough, it will hurt less. I'm… broken, Poe. I'm broken. I don't know how you can stand to be around me. I'm a broken, wretched mess. I – I – hurt you, and I… even if you say you like it, how can I be sure I'm not making you like it? How can I be sure… I'm not doing the same thing he did, to me?" 

" _Kylo_ ," Poe breathes, softly. Like a man in love. Agonising, desperate, soul-deep love. "You already know that isn't true. You proved it to me, on Eigengrau. We proved it to each other. Of course I want to be around you. I _love_ you. And, as for the hurt…"

He's shaking more, now, as he realises the line he's got to go down. As he realises… he has to do this again. "…I _know_ what it feels like, to be made to like it. Snoke did that to me, the day… the day I lost you. He got inside my head and he pulled on my memories and he…"

The words choke in his throat, and Poe has to pause for a moment. Has to pause, and then has to go on.

_Stay here. Stay here. Stay here._

Scary word. Just say it.

"…He raped us both, Kylo. Not in the traditional, physical sense, but… it was just as much of a violation. And he may only have done it to me for a very short time, but… it was enough to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it is _nothing_ like what you do to me. **Nothing**."

Kylo grabs him even harder. Squeezes him so tightly the air goes out, but not because he wants to cause pain. But because the _agony_ inside is so much, and he feels he has to hold him, to hold him so he knows he won't let anyone touch him again. Not ever. Not ever, ever, ever, ever EVER.

"Poe…"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Both hands in his hair, pulling their foreheads together, dripping salt-tears over his cheeks. "Poe. I…" He wants to kill Snoke all over again. Doing it to Kylo was bad enough. Doing it to _Poe_ was unforgivable, the final straw, the last assault from which there is **no** redemption, in his eyes. 

"I can… take it. The memory. If you want me to. I can… try. I can try to wipe it out of your head." He doesn't want Poe to have to live with it. If he wiped his own mind out, most of his history, his childhood and his life-experiences would go. He isn't even sure who he'd be, if he took out all of Snoke from inside his own mind. "If you want me to, I will try. You shouldn't have to live with it, if you don't want to. I… should… never have taken you to him. I'm so sorry, Poe. I'm so, so very sorry."

Some very small part of Poe would still say yes to this. It would. The last four weeks have been hell, and they stem from an event that was the worst few moments of his entire life. Worse than everything else in the list combined.

But he won't. He won't ever. He needs to remember. He needs to remember because pretending it didn't happen gets him nowhere. And he needs to remember so he knows _precisely_ who and what he is fighting to destroy.

"No," Poe says, very softly. "I don't want that. I need to remember. But… this is not about me. Not now. Maybe somewhere down the line, but… not now. This is about you. What that monster did to you. This is about helping you understand that you couldn't control what happened, that you _didn't_ control what happened. That you don't have to feel the guilt because _none of it was your fault_."

"What's about me, is about you," Kylo insists. "The Force made sure of that, when it bound us up together. What hurts you, hurts me. And I don't want to hurt you. Not… not in… bad ways." A swallow, hard.

"…don't you… don't you worry I only do the things I do to you, because… he… twisted me? I… I always… hoped it was just… good because you were happy, but I… I worry I… I worry I'm… harming you. Or… that I shouldn't. You… you were my first. My only. And I just… I just want us to be perfect, and you to be happy, and safe, and I… would do anything, Poe. Anything. If you asked me never to kiss you again, I would. If you asked me to sleep on the floor, I would. If you asked me to do _anything_ … I would." 

Poe puts both hands on Kylo's face, and meets his eyes. "Kylo," he says, softly. "If you did the things you do because he _twisted_ you, then the things you do would be just as twisted. You wouldn't be able to stop that coming out. Our love wouldn't be bright, and wonderful, and _right_. It would be broken. And it is _not_ broken."

He's still shaking, fighting to hold himself together, needing to keep going to get Kylo through this. "…Do you remember that first night, at the oasis?" he asks. "We'd just got back from the jungle, from the first time we…" blushing, now, despite it all; the memory too wonderful to _not_ , "…the first time we were together. We ate, and we were so relieved to have proper food and water, and _then_ I decided to strip all my clothes off and jump in the lake. And you had fun with that, I know you did. But do you remember what you said to me before you actually laid a hand on me?"

He doesn't wait for Kylo to answer, though, and carries on speaking after only the slightest pause. "You asked me what my limits were. I listed them, as they stood, but I also told you that this kind of thing was new to me, and that I didn't know all of it for sure. And you said, then, that I was to tell you as soon as possible if you did anything I genuinely didn't want. And you meant it. I knew you meant it. It was right there, in your eyes, in your voice. You swore to take care of me. And you haven't broken that promise once. Not once, Kylo, you hear me?"

Kylo can't bear Poe's eyes on him, and he glances away, feeling… heat and shame and something else. Something different. Something raw, and low, and deep. He does remember. He remembers being so terrified that he would do something bad, evil, and wrong. Remembers the fear that he'd abuse him, that he'd force him, somehow. He'd not had the Force itself when he first made him kneel, but he still…

…didn't… want to… abuse him. Ever. Wanted it to be a choice. Wanted him to _want_ things. He remembers Poe begging him to show him the difference, and how he'd hated the very thought of it. Hated it, even though all he did was show him a string of deaths that he didn't even make him enjoy. Just actions against his core, against his tenets. He hadn't even been able to plumb deep enough inside of him to do anything _worse_ , because the concept was so utterly, completely, unshakably abhorrent to him.

He hadn't wanted to do to Poe, what he'd had done to him.

Kylo's eyes flicker back, and he nods, just once. "I love you," he says, again. "I do. I don't know how you love me back, but I love you so much it makes everything hurt, but in ways I don't want to stop. I never wanted to harm you. Not ever. I just wanted – I just… I wanted…" Poe. Poe happy. Poe screaming in bliss. Poe in his arms, forever. Poe looking up at him from down on his knees, trusting and caring. Poe not hating him. Poe believing in him. Poe happy, so happy. That's all. Kylo would go back to Snoke a hundred times, if it was the only way to make Poe smile. It would destroy him, but he'd do it. He'd break himself in two all over, just to give Poe somewhere to hide from the rain. He grabs Poe's face, and he finishes the thought the only way that makes sense.

Lips on his, a rough slide of tongue, and a pressure in his mind that Poe can't possibly fight off. A raging, roiling hungerneedlove that's not at all sensible, and a confused mess of Light (keep him safe, keep him happy, protect him, do things to make him proud) and Dark (love, love above all, a desire to protect at _all_ costs, a need to **please** and a need to take and use and abuse and mould into only happy shapes). He doesn't even kiss him in the hopes of anything else, he just… he has to. And he has to flare out with the _song_ in his chest, because it's so damn **loud** of a sudden, like the orchestra's been tipped to swell and fill the whole house. Like he's home, and Poe **is** home, and he loves him, and there's nothing he can do but kiss him until he's gasping for oxygen, and promising him the galaxy against his mouth. 

The kiss takes Poe by surprise – good surprise, oh yes – and the pressure in his mind, where he's _needed_ to feel the other man for too long, and… suddenly it's all too much and his emotional control just snaps, and he's curled in tight, the tears coming hot and fast, unstoppable once the dam breaks. Four weeks of grief, of terror, of loneliness, of anger and confliction and rage and need, and it all just smashes to the fore at once, like a great tidal wave breaking down a barrier.

He can't speak right now, but Kylo is in his head, so he doesn't even have to concentrate to throw the words across their bond, where he knows the other man will hear them.

" _I love you, I love you, I never stopped loving you. I wanted you home so badly I would have done almost anything to achieve it. I walked through the world like a ghost until I saw you again. I need you. All I need is you. All I want is you._ "

" _Let me make love to you_ ," Kylo asks, and he asks, not demands. Not insists. " _Let me show you how much I love you back. How happy you make me feel. How happy I need to make **you** feel_." 

Because he needs to. Not because of an animal urge to scratch an itch, and not out of any perverse need to restake his claim. No. He wants to make love to him, because he loves him. Because he knows how it can feel for them both, and because he wants this – them – to be what _they_ want and need. He wants to write love-letters on his body, mind and soul. Wants to wash away the lingering cold, the pain and the distance, and connect their Bond as deeply as he can tie it.

Knot it off, deep inside of their hearts and souls. Remind him that this – them – has only ever, ever been _about_ them. About them, together. About how they can make one another feel, and how they can make one another stronger, happier. Kylo breaks from the kiss, and pulls back – holding Poe's face – just far enough to focus on his eyes. His own are pained, but also happy. Adoring, but not insisting. If Poe said no, he'd stop. No matter how much he feels the arcing need to reconnect, to soothe… he'd stop.

But he knows Poe needs it just as much as he does. And that… is not wrong. 

Poe stares back at him, the request making the whole world stop. He can hardly breathe. He has wanted so badly, for so long, but he hasn't even been able to think about it because of where Kylo was, and what Poe knew was happening to him. He couldn't even have acted on the feelings if he'd wanted to, the reality of it all too invasive and too overwhelming, the need sparking like electricity unable to find its grounding.

He nods. "Anything," he whispers, fervent, almost desperate. "I mean it. I have always meant it. I trust you more than enough to say it. _Anything_."

Kylo scoops his pilot up, an arm under his, the other sliding below his legs, and holding him close to his chest. He wants to keep kissing him, but that will delay the walking-thing, because he might be a Sith, but he also has the same difficulty focussing on _too_ many things at once, when some of them feel like the world will end if they don't happen.

"Good. Because there are _so_ many things I want to do to you, before the end. But first… first I just want to be inside of you. I want to make you feel good, all the way through. I want to show you my… my _Light_ , for once." He knows normally he indulges in his Darker side, for the most part. Gives Poe things that other lovers might not. 

But he wants to show him that he can do the other, too. That it can just be adoration, just firm, loving touches. He places him down on the bed, and moves to straddle him, taking his hands and putting them softly over his head. Gazing down full of wonder, and… pride. "You saved me, Poe. And now I want to show you what you saved."

Poe's whole body shivers when Kylo touches him, when he lifts him, when he lays him down like that. It isn't out of fear, though, or even nervous apprehension, but simply out of _need_. He leaves his hands where they're put, fingers curling into his palms, an act of – if not quite surrender – acquiescence.

He'd do so much more, if asked. Even just asked. No matter how tired he is, physically and mentally. He'd do _anything_.

"I want that very much," he whispers. "I want _you_ , Kylo. Just you."

"And I will only ever want you," Kylo promises, and leans up to kiss at his hands; the base of his thumbs, his wrists. His own fingers start the careful work of peeling open buttons, sliding soft fabric up and left and right, kisses that move down to traverse his throat from one side to the other. "I have missed you. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. I have missed you…"

Warm hands, sliding up from his hips, up to wander over his chest. Chasing every place the sensation seems to peak, following lines of nerves, flow of blood. He lets his tongue press between his collarbones and licks a wet, flat stripe up under his chin. "Without you, I am not even half a man. But when you look at me, I'm whole, Poe." 

Another kiss, this one slow. A sealing of lips together, and his tongue dips in to taste, his mind following suit so Poe can't properly distinguish the two sensations, so they become part of one whole. He finds the way _kissed_ feels in his mind, the tingle of lips and the shortness of breath, and edges it higher and higher still, making his body flood with feedback it can only barely process. 

Poe's eyes go somewhat hazy at that, the sudden rush of sensation strangely overwhelming, despite being minor in comparison to some of the things Kylo has done to him. Maybe it's the fact that he's waited so long, _needed_ so long. Or maybe… it's because that press into his mind is still the most delicious thing in the world, and he wants it so badly, he needs it so badly, and…

…a flash, deep down, just for a second, unwelcome and dark and…

… _no_.

His arms lift at once, going to wrap around Kylo, holding onto him. Not resisting, not trying to make him stop – Maker, no – but simply needing to hold on. To remind himself that it's Kylo, who loves him, who he loves, who would never hurt him in any way he didn't want. Who never will.

That's the difference. And it's stark, and real, and sure.

An arm under Poe's neck, letting him have something to rest against, and his other holding his weight up so he doesn't crush him utterly. Kylo lets the feeling ebb just a little, enough to let Poe think again. Kisses that break away a bit more after each one, until he's not kissing him anymore, and he can talk.

"If you need me to stop, or you want to slow down, just…" They've never really discussed it. "…think my old name, or say it. And I'll slow down, and just hold you." More kisses, all along his jawbone, all the way from ear to ear. "It was hard for me, too… the first few times. I wasn't sure it could ever be good, or right. But it can, and I'll take as long as I need to remind you of that."

His elbow – to the side of Poe's head – takes his weight as he slides his other palm up and down his side, up and down and lingers on his waist, on his upper thigh. He's determined to take this as slowly as Poe needs, no matter what he needs. 

"Don't stop," Poe says, fervent again. "Don't stop, don't slow down. I'm _yours_ , Kylo. I need to prove it. I need to _feel it_."

He presses in tighter, putting a hand on the side of Kylo's face, watching his eyes. "And I want to be everything _you_ need. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to make you feel right."

"But if you _need_ me to," Kylo replies, a little sharply, "…you **will** tell me to stop. I don't intend to make you need me to, but I have to know you would. I have to know… you'd refuse, just like you did on the _Decimator_." He's still so very, very proud of him for that, and he kisses him in fresh remembrance, pushing the pride through their Bond, a flash of the memory, the look in Poe's eyes when he stood up to him.

And that… that tells him all he needs to know. Poe _would_ stop him. If it came to it, if it was ever **wrong**. He'd stop this, and Kylo's grateful. He pulls his lover's leg up and over his waist, and then moves to kiss his bare chest. He loves Poe's chest. Loves how he writhes under his lips, how just a flick of tongue can make him hiss and moan. He keeps the contact in his mind, keeps sending through his admiration, his gratitude, and his love. Teeth that scratch (not hard, just a sting) and lips that suckle almost – but not quite – to hurting point. 

Poe drops back against the bed once more, under the sudden onslaught. He raises his hands, putting them back where Kylo first left them, wanting to make it clear that he was never resisting. Never untrusting. Just… needing.

"I promise," he says, humbled by the other man's tone. "You… know I'd never give in to you unless it was _right_. That, every time I do… it is further proof of that rightness. You didn't force my surrender, Kylo. You _earned_ it."

He isn't one to give up easily, after all. Their first meeting was more than proof of that.

"And I'll endeavour to continue to be worthy of it," Kylo tells him, a more lingering kiss to his hip, a flood of warmth that starts in his navel and seeps out through his whole core. "To match you, Light for Light, and Dark for Dark."

Kisses lower, and slides, moving Poe's legs to his shoulders, nosing firmly at his groin. He doesn't think of anything but this, or him. Nothing but Poe in his mind, and nothing but Poe in his heart. When they're together, he always lets the world fall away. It's like, here, with him, the horrors don't even exist. Or… they do, but they are no longer hooked into him. He mouths dryly over his crotch, and then his eyes flicker up.

"…this is when you tell me you didn't touch yourself, like I told you not to." Teasing, lightly, trying to make this… normal all over again. "Did you, pilot? Did you keep yourself for me to love?" 

The full answer to this is much darker than Kylo wants to hear right now, Poe is sure. Because, no. He didn't. He couldn't. He needed, yes, but it was a different kind of need, connected to physical impulse and at the same time far removed from it. He didn't even think to try, not really, and he doubts it would have worked if he had.

Not that he would have done. Because _Kylo told him not to_.

"Of course I waited," he whispers. "I'm yours. I told you. _Only yours_."

"And I'll make you glad you waited," Kylo answers, knowing the unspoken things, all the same. His fingers slide over the bulge in Poe's pants, and he rubs his cheek against his thigh as he works them open, and pulls his already-hard cock out. "I'll never make you wait again, if I can help it."

Not for anything. He makes his tongue flat, and sweeps it from root to tip in one go. Over and over, pushing it into Poe's belly with his licks, and pushing the sensation of hands around his wrists, his throat… making him feel held, and safe. He laps his tongue firmly under the tip, then curls lips around and _sucks_ **hard**. 

" _Fuck_ ," Poe cries out, already sounding wrecked, the sensation heightened all the more by the preceding weeks of nothingness. "Fuck… fuck… Kylo, _please_ … yes, oh yes… pleasepleaseplease..!"

Part of him feels like he should be the one doing this: the one worshipping the man he adores so completely, loving him, proving it to him, showing him how much he's been missed, how much Poe has _needed_ him. But, at the same time, he can't deny how amazing it feels to be on the receiving end of this. To let Kylo love him. To fall back and know he's safe – always safe – in the other man's hands.

It's been a month, but apparently you don't forget the taste of your lover, or how to run your tongue where his legs shake, or how to gulp in air and then ride your face over his crotch. Kylo loves making Poe happy, more than anything else in the universe. Loves feeling his pleasure arc out between them, and loves the sound of his voice when he's so close, so close.

He hums around his shaft, and then the clothing is just going to have to go. Light or not, it's in the way, and a thought rips everything at the seams, and sends anything Poe isn't actively lying on top of off the bed.

He hopes, distantly, that someone thought to leave a change of clothes for Poe. Otherwise he's going to be wrapped in a sheet until Kylo can (embarrassingly) ask someone to fetch some. Both hands go to slide under the other man's ass, to lift his hips, and to hold him still as he fucks his own face and throat raw over his cock, as he struggles to breathe and holds him tighter, making sure he keeps half an eye open for any signs of real distress. 

…And _oh_ , but _that's_ why people who aren't having sex with a Force-user are _missing out_. Poe keeps on gasping, "Yes… _yes_ …" over and over, and he's sinking under so fast you'd be forgiven for thinking Kylo has done a lot more to him than just this. But sometimes… it isn't just about the physical elements. It isn't, even, about the mental elements. It's about trusting someone, so much, so hard, that you will give way under them, from the weight of that trust alone.

"I love you," he manages. "I need you. I never _stopped_ needing. Never stopped wanting. I never will. I'm yours, all yours, always, forever… please… please…"

" _I want to come inside of you_ ," Kylo says, his mouth still occupied. " _And I don't know if there's lube. So you're just going to have to come twice for me_." He figures he won't mind. Well. He won't mind if Kylo makes him not mind. 

He tightens his lips around him, bobbing furiously over his shaft, trying to edge him ever closer. A feeling like a punch to the gut, only _pleasant_ , and he grabs Poe's balls, kneading and milking them, even as he swipes a mental finger between his cheeks and pushes, without entering. A **drag** of mind and tongue and he batters down on his lover in an attempt to get him off. And hard. And fast. 

It's more than enough. Poe _howls_ as completion rips through him all at once, bucking up against the other man, the world whiting out, and it just doesn't stop, weeks of need shattering and breaking open in one glorious, terrifying, unstoppable moment.

" _I'm yours, I'm yours… **Kylo** … yes… please… thankyouthankyouthankyou…_"

He comes until he feels like there's nothing left in him, until his whole body is aching and hypersensitive, and then he drops back against the bed, gasping hard, not even able to _see_ in straight lines just yet.

Kylo, of course, takes it. He takes it, and it's hard not to just swallow the whole load, which would make the part where he got Poe off rough and fast somewhat redundant. But it's difficult not to, when he tastes so damn good, and when he's so happy, and pleased, and Kylo… Kylo did that. He made his lover scream. Made him breathless and happy.

That can't ever be wrong. 

He lifts carefully off his cock, and spits into his hand. It's probably not the best source of lubrication, but he does **not** want to wonder if anyone put some in the place this time around, and he most certainly doesn't plan on leaving the bed.

Instead, he wipes his lips on the back of his other hand, Poe's legs still over his shoulders, and peers, cat-like, up at him. "You sure you want me to go for round two?" He's nigh on certain the answer is 'yes', but he wants to _hear_ him. 

" _Yes_ ," Poe says, the word following on from Kylo's question with no space for a pause, like he's started the mental process of answering before the question itself was even complete. That, and the slight high-pitched edge to his voice, betray how much he wants this. "Please. I need you. I need you to fuck me. _Please_."

He could never say it enough. But it wouldn't take much to get him to try, out loud at least. The inside of his head is already a torrent of pleading, and he knows Kylo won't miss that.

"Tell me how much you need it," Kylo says, even as he slathers two fingers slick with saliva and come between Poe's cheeks, poking roughly at his entrance. "Tell me how much you need to feel my dick back inside of you, where it belongs. Tell me, pilot."

He's a little harsher than before, teasing at the warm, sensitive skin. Dragging harder over the pucker, before he slips his middle finger in and in and in. All the way in, and curled. He wriggles it as hard as he can inside, knowing it'll just be a torment, more than a satisfaction. 

" _Ineedyou_ ," Poe chokes out, the shock of that sudden nowhere-near-enough penetration making him arch up a little nonetheless. "I need you, I need you, I need you to take me back, need you to _take me_ , need you to own me, need to know I'm yours, all yours, forever… Please… Kylo… _Master_ … please… I need you, I'll do anything, anything… _please_ …"

Two fingers, in and spread, slamming in as fast as his hand can move. He knows Poe will relax around him, and he spreads enough need back through his lover that there's no question he will. Kylo splays him as wide as he can with just his fingers, and then he's shedding his own clothing at a rate of knots. He hadn't removed a single thing, but it all goes. All of it. In a pile, along with everything Poe wore. They need out of it, need out of the stench of that ship, and all its evil. He'll wear Maker-damned _white_ if he has to (and he might, if sheets are all they have), but that's after he's done this.

After he's brought Poe back to the brink, and then pulled his fingers out of him. He kneels between his legs, and holds his cock in one hand. The other pulls out from inside him, and holds him in place as he pushes in. And in. And in. Poe's body welcomes him, like this was meant to be. Like they were made to fit each other, and… and then he sends a command through into his head: " _Put your arms around my neck_." 

The minute he does, he rocks back on his haunches and supports his spine as gravity sinks him all the way home.

And then Kylo smiles. "Beg me. Beg me, and I'll make you the happiest man to live, my love. My heart. Promise me the stars, and I'll _take_ them, for **you**." 

" _Please_ ," the pilot gasps. He looks like he's on the brink of tears, but they'd be happy tears if they came. He _feels_ like he's finally home. Like he's finally _right_.

He holds on tighter, arms around Kylo's neck, around his shoulders, holding on, close enough that he can press their foreheads together, that he can feel the other man's breath against his lips.

He's here. Kylo's here. In the moment. _Here_.

"I love you," he manages, his voice cracking. "I need you. I'm yours. I'll give you anything. Anything you want. Anything. Please fuck me. Please. Please. Please…"

How could anyone resist Poe Dameron, begging so beautifully? Open and wanting, loving, giving, hurting and torn? How could Kylo ever say no to him? He's not sure it would be possible, not for long. 

Thanking the universe that he's strong in the Force, he starts to move. Starts to fuck up, and into him. Starts rough and ragged, and then grabs hold of his hips and lifts Poe almost all the way off, before ramming him back down with all the strength he has. Over and over, nose to his, face to his, breathing like the hum of a broken sabre. "I love you," he says. Or thinks. Or both. 

"I love you."

As he uses and abuses him, hammering him home on his cock, knowing any pain will be a pleasure. Knowing that it, too, is Light. If you both want it, it's Light, at the same time as Dark. That thin, razor-edge where Love meets Justice, and Control meets Emotion. He rages through his mind, no aim or goal in place but sharing. Sharing that knowledge, that certainty, and that freedom. Sharing the flickers of a hurt self, soothed all the way over by the knowledge of _safety_ , of understanding, compassion, and love. Shares the tiny remembrance of a name that used to signify himself, but doesn't any more. Not out of fear, or wanting to stop; not out of anger, but out of love for something he was. Something he saved, and something Poe found in him.

He isn't Ben. He won't be Ben. He can't ever be him, not again, not anymore… but Poe… Poe knows who Ben _was_ , that thing inside he never spoke to anyone about. And Poe doesn't pull away in horror, or anger – not directed at him. Poe loves him. Even the most broken parts of him.

"You complete me," he whispers. "More than any ceremony. More than any words we could say. You complete me. Let me make you whole again, too." A hand made wholly from the Force, coiled around his cock, stroking him hard, harder, hardest. "Come for me, Poe. Come and let me come inside of you, like you did in my mouth. Seal this, and know we're Bound in this life, and any after. You. Me. _Us_." 

It's much too much for Poe to resist, if he wanted to. He's falling apart so completely that nothing could really hold him together at this point – Kylo's will, perhaps, if applied with precision and certainty, but little else. The world drops away, and he's coasting a wave of black starlight, love and desire, light and dark, and everything in between.

"All yours," he gasps out. He doesn't know how Kylo – even with the Force – can stoke the pleasure in him so high, so soon after the last time, but he can feel himself about to break, about to shatter, about to _give_ … "All yours, all yours… Kylo… my Kylo…"

And a second jolt of pleasure ricochets through him, followed by a wave of completion that burns and blazes and cools and soothes. He's physically spent, but he still feels like he's spilling all over again, his hips arching up as much as possible, trying to give Kylo _everything_. Trying to show him, to prove to him, just how loved and wanted he is.

The man is a marvel, Kylo thinks. The most beautiful creature ever to breathe, and the most beautiful heart to ever hurt or feel. He can sense Poe's need cresting and breaking, can feel the completion, and it's all he needs, himself. Poe. Always, only ever Poe.

Back down onto the bed, as he rides the final few shudders out, before he's coming, deep inside. Coming like he's waited all his life to come, to find his home, to claim it and guard it and love it. The Force already winds them, back and forth in time, and Kylo knows he's lost, found, and forever his. He can't even talk, or think about words, just… breathe brokenly against his neck, and hold him wherever his hands lie, and… yes. Just… yes. 

Poe wraps his arms even tighter around Kylo and holds on. Holds on like he's scared something might rip them apart again. Holds on like there's _no way he's letting that happen_. Holds on. Holds on. So tight, it makes his arms ache.

He can't speak. The world is broken. Words are broken. _Kylo is here_ , and it isn't a dream, it's real, it's _real_ , and the nightmare is _over_ , and he can finally rest, can finally breathe…

There are still tears in his eyes. They sting, but he doesn't really process it. All of him is in this moment. Here. Right here.

" _I'm here_ ," Kylo agrees. " _You saved me. You brought me home. And now I get to do the same for you, Poe. I love you_." He kisses softly at him, and holds him back just as tight, his own eyes stinging. 

" _I've got you, I've got you, and I'm never letting go again. My beautiful Apprentice. You fought and saved a Sith. **You** broke Snoke from my head. You. Don't you ever, ever forget that. You, your love, your courage. You are the reason I am alive. You. You, and only you._ " 

It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. He knows, because Poe is happy. Poe is happy, and that means Kylo can be, too. 

It all just shatters. Weeks of grief and terror and exhaustion and fear, breaking apart, falling away. The shock of it is overwhelming, and Poe knows the deeper wounds will take time to heal, but… here, and now… it's all right. It's all right.

"We saved each other," he whispers. "I would never have gotten out of there alive without you. The first time, or the second."

He shivers. It's slowly dawning on him that he picked a lightsabre fight with a _Sith Lord_ , and that's no mean feat. On the contrary, it's borderline insane.

But… it worked.

"We're going to do this," Kylo says, his voice sure at last. "We'll do it properly. Maybe I needed… needed to go, to finally break free. To finally be yours, instead of his. Maybe that's how we kill him. Once and for all. And then… and then I get to hold you. All night, every night. I get to wake up with you in my arms. I get…"

And it breaks, the word, when he says it, "…a _home_." A real one. Not a snatched night of bliss, but a home. A family. And Poe, above all else, Poe. 

"Yes," Poe whispers. "A home. You and me. Your family. Our friends and allies. _Home_."

He knows Kylo hasn't had anything like that since he was very small, and it hurts to think it. Hurts, to think of someone he loves so much being so alone. But… that all ends now. From here on in… things are going to be better.

He wraps around Kylo even more. "You belong here. It's where you're meant to be. Where we're _both_ meant to be."

Kylo nods. He's not sure the others will accept him, but his… his family do. And Rey, he thinks, can learn to. And Finn. If the others simply tolerate him, it will be more than enough. In fact, if everyone hated him, he'd be okay if he had Poe. 

It's just – he keeps thinking the other shoe will drop. That he'll sit up, and he'll be back on Eigengrau, and the First Order will be bearing down on them. Things like this don't happen to him. Good things. Happy things.

"…I'll do everything I can to deserve this," he says. "Everything. For you, and… for me." Because he knows he has red on his ledger, intentional or not. He knows he's been wielded out of malice, out of cruelty, and he wants things to change. 

"I know you will," Poe replies. Not belittling or denying the things he knows Kylo has done. Ready to help him deal with that, to move past it. To show him the person he can become, now he's finally free.

A hand up, and he strokes gently through Kylo's hair. Only wanting to soothe him. To show him how loved he is, and how needed.

"And if there's anything you need from me," he adds, "anything at all… you tell me."

"I need you to be happy. Which… is not meant as an order," Kylo says, closing his eyes and relishing the touch. "That is my first goal. I won't be able to relax until you are. Not… fully. And when you're happy, the rest will follow." 

"I'm happy when I have you," Poe insists. "I… can deal with the rest. But… Kylo, this isn't about me. I mean it. You're the one who…" he can't quite say it again, "…needs the focus right now."

"But what if part of making me better, is me knowing I can make you better?" Kylo asks, voice soft and caring. "Proving it can be done, and that I… can help you. Not to mention… it will probably take longer to fix me. But if we fix you, first, it will already undo a lot of my pain." 

"I… won't turn down anything that you offer," is Poe's reply. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. He's been through too much to be able to do it. "But… I don't want you to forget yourself. You're too good at denying your own needs. I… won't let you get hurt like that any longer."

"It's not going to be easy for me to un-learn that." A swallow, his throat a little tight. "But, believe me, it's still selfish, wanting you happy. It… will show me it can happen. Show me that the blackness can be washed away. And show me I still have enough Light left in me to help you. Poe… let me? It's my turn, I'm sure." 

Poe meets his eyes, and nods. "All right. If that's what you want. I told you I'd do anything, and I meant it."

He presses his face into the crook of Kylo's neck, staying still for a moment, and then kissing gently over his skin.

"You mean more to me than anything, Poe. I thought I made that clear." Kylo's tone is caring, light. Fingers moving slowly over cooling skin. "And this is what I want. This, and an end to that monster. An end to the fighting. And balance…"

Which is when he laughs, just quietly. "…not much to ask for, is it?" 

"For you, probably not," Poe replies, softly, with a little smile of his own. "Although… right now… possibly what I need is to sleep for a week. Or nearabouts. I don't think I've had a good night in… forever."

"…four weeks?" Kylo says, very lightly. "Me either. Although it's still light out… I'm in favour of just falling asleep with you in my arms. So when I wake up, I know if it was a dream, it's going to continue…" 

Poe nods. "Four weeks," he confirms. "Feels like a lifetime." He shudders, and presses in tightly again. "Just… hold me?" he asks, very softly. "Hold me whilst we both rest. I think… I think that would help."

"If you ask, then I shall obey." Kylo grins, and gently eases them to one side. He's still buried deep inside him, and he tangles their legs up, grabbing pillows and covers (with hands, toes, Force) to make them a safe little nest. 

Eyes closing, he pushes his forehead to Poe's. "When we wake, I want the real, full version of what's been going on without me. The bits you didn't tell me. Like how – for instance – Rey has Anakin's blade, and me, Vader's…" A peck to his cheek. "But later. Later." 

And Poe smiles. "Kylo," he breathes. "You know I'd tell you _anything_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, our lovely artist TheJuggernaut has returned with more fanart! This time, it's from Chapter 25 (One Night On D'Qar). BEHOLD!
> 
>   
>    
>    
>    
> 
> 
> Credit and larger versions: [@itspronounceddee-ann-uh](http://itspronounceddee-ann-uh.tumblr.com/post/140313909973/just-in-case-any-of-your-were-on-the-fence-about)
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	38. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations, everyone! Time for another update, in which the boys have several important visitors but - mercifully - not all at once.
> 
> The most unexpected visitor won't be turning up until the next chapter, however. So... join us again on Sunday, as Kylo seeks advice from an unusual source...

Both men are asleep very quickly, the fact of it technically being morning meaning nothing to them right now. By the time Poe finally jolts awake, the light coming in through the high window is already fading to the orange of sunset, and he's vaguely aware that they've slept all day.

Indeed, the only reason he's woken now is the sudden, rather insistent sound of knocking coming from the front door. It takes a minute to fully intrude on his mind – and another minute for him to realise that it won't just stop if he ignores it.

"…Kylo…" he murmurs. "Kylo… someone… something. Knocking." A sigh. "I'd better…"

The pilot staggers up, then remembers that his clothing is… no longer usable. He mutters something under his breath about overly-enthusiastic Sith, and then tugs one of the sheets off the bed, wrapping it around himself and going to find out who it could be and what they could possibly want.

He's hardly thinking about any of it, about the time or the fact he's tousle-haired and a little bleary-eyed and wearing nothing but a bedsheet, and he paces through the bedroom into the living space beyond – where there are a couple of couches – and then pulls the front door open.

"This better be…" he starts out, and then freezes.

Snap Wexley is on the other side of the door. His eyes go wide when he first sees Poe, and then he breaks into a smile.

"You two still alive in there?"

"…Yes?" Somehow Poe manages to make it sound like a question.

"Well, that's a start. Thought you really _were_ gonna sleep all day. Although… nope, not going to ask _that_ question. You… doing OK?"

There's a great deal of concern in the other man's eyes, and Poe is glad to see it. Especially because he can tell it's directed at both of them, and not just him.

"Yeah," he answers. "It's going to take time, but… "

"I know," Snap tells him. "I know. You missed evening meal." He pats the bag slung over his shoulder. "Brought you both something."

"…Seriously? That's good of you."

Snap gives an easy shrug. "Best friend, remember?"

"You know I'd never have gotten through this last month without you, right?"

"Don't mention it. I know you'd do the same for me. Although… I guess I'm less likely to come home with a Sith Lord. Does Kylo know any hot lady Sith?"

Poe grins a little at the thought of Snap shacking up with a Sith Lady of his own. He can't quite picture it, although, at the same time… stranger things have happened.

"Only one," he answers, "and she's been dead for millennia. Also she's taken."

Snap stares at him. "…I worry about you sometimes."

"Isn't that what best friends are for?"

"So I'm told."

Kylo, for his part, listens in the background until it sounds like Snap isn't leaving any time soon. His clothing is in a little less disrepair, so he pulls on the shirt and pants, making himself halfway presentable before… he lingers, in the bedroom doorway, for a moment. Just watching. 

"I should thank you for looking out for him," he says, very quietly, still not coming through. 

There's a lot, suddenly, in Snap's eyes. A lot. It isn't bad, but it's… complicated. "You don't have to thank me either," he points out. "I'm just glad Poe got you home when he did. I… look. I brought you both dinner, because you never turned up and I was concerned, but… I was hoping to talk to you, Kylo."

Poe looks at him in surprise, and then nods in realisation. Akiva. Of course.

Kylo flinches, clearly expecting… bad news. "If this is about Akiva, I'm sorry," he says. "I did the best I could. I made them submit because my orders were to slaughter droves until they complied. I didn't know what else I could do…" And that's the easiest thing to discuss. 

"…It is about Akiva, yes," Snap answers, very carefully. "But I'm not here to pick a fight. Anything but that, I promise. I…"

"…You should come in," Poe says, before the man starts trying to have this conversation in the doorway. Plus, it's cold, and he himself is only wearing a sheet. He glances back at Kylo, wanting to check. "If… that's OK?"

A flare of panic in brown eyes, but Kylo nods. He's still hesitating in his own doorway, not wanting to commit to being in that room. Not fully. "We'll save them," Kylo blurts out. "As soon as we can. We will. We'll save everyone." 

"You're right," Snap agrees. "We will." And no matter what Snap usually says about Akiva, Poe knows the man will be dead-set on liberating it again. And not just to get back at the First Order.

There's a little hesitation before Snap relents and steps into the room, and that's odd too because nothing fazes the man. But… Poe knows this is different. And… OK, his boyfriend and his best friend need to have a conversation, don't they?

He shuts the door, and then moves closer to Kylo, putting a hand on his arm. "I'll give you two a minute. I should go take a shower."

" _You're leaving me with him?_ " Kylo sounds utterly betrayed, though he tries for a fake smile and mostly looks like he might murder anyone who comes close. Another reason he lived behind a mask for so long. " _If I die, it's your fault_."

" _You won't die_ ," Poe answers, over the bond. " _You need to do this. Both of you. Trust me_." And then he paces off, before Kylo can object, knowing the man needs a little nudge. But only out of love, of course.

And then, realising his boyfriend is a disloyal whelp, Kylo turns to the other pilot. And… damnit. He walks in, and hovers behind one of the couches. 

"…I'm sorry for the other thing, too," he mumbles, like a man made to apologise who does actually feel sorry, but not quite sorry enough to sound fully sincere. Or more… is insincere about the act of apology, but not insincere about the feeling behind it. It's complicated. 

When Poe is gone, Snap looks a little concerned. Probably because he _is_. He slips the bag off his shoulder, setting it down, and then paces slightly closer. Not too close. Playing it safe.

Well, safe _ish_.

"I didn't come here for an apology," he says, in that very serious voice he saves for moments like this. "Actually… I came here to thank you."

Kylo, when confused, looks rather like a tall, startled bird. It's probably the way his head tilts; compensating for a masked face, telegraphing the highest amounts of confusion or emotion by shoulders and head-movements alone. 

"…why?"

"Because you saved my life," Snap answers. "Or… spared it, certainly. Jess' too. You could have killed us both, or… worse." He shivers just a little, a man who knows the horrors of war all too well. "But you didn't. And… I don't think that was easy for you, because of… everything."

He's clearly out of his depth. But he is trying.

"…The…" how do you say this? "…Supreme… Leader…" No. Not that title. " _Snoke_ insists his Knights…" Obey. Do as he says. Murder. "I didn't. Want to. But I didn't mean to… to… show you the things you saw. I think… I lost control. Of me. When I…"

Kylo finds the end of one sleeve, tugs at it. "It was not fair of me to… make you watch. I'm sorry. I was… struggling." That's the euphemism of the decade. 

Snap nods. "I figured as much," he says. "I… hoped as much, too. It meant you were still fighting back. Still… trying to be _you_ , and I…"

Pause. Deep breath. "…All those things I saw. They were real, weren't they?"

A bright flash of panic, in Kylo's chest. It's – it's hard enough that Poe knows. It's difficult, but also good, because Poe understands and loves him, but this man… he hardly knows his name, and he isn't quite sure he is ready for everyone to see him, underneath all his layers. And he isn't even sure what he _is_ , in all senses, and…

"…y-yes." He forces the word out, somewhere caught between horror and panic… and blanket denial. 

Snap may not have the Force, but he reads people better than most. "It's all right," he insists, carefully. Still obviously trying to work out how you have deep and meaningful conversations with your best friend's Sith Lord fiancé. "I'm just… trying to understand what happened. It was a lot, and I've never had anyone do that to me before, and…"

"…you hopefully won't ever again," Kylo says. "Though if you encounter any of my Knights, then… there is every possibility they will. But they will… likely just make you shoot one another. It is unlikely they would torture you, unless you had specific information, like when Poe had the map…" And I tortured him. Kylo looks even paler.

"You… saw things because I was fighting. It's… it was always when I fought that the… other things came back. If I just did as I was told, it was… easier." A little, sharp laugh. "In one sense, anyway. Still had to do the thing. Even if you hated it. You just got through it faster. Maybe made them suffer less." 

It's clearly a lot for Snap to process, although at the same time he is trying. "So… it happened because you were fighting back. But… you can put images in people's heads deliberately, too? Poe's told me… I mean, he hasn't told me anything _personal_ , I promise… but he's told me that you can. That's…"

He trails off. "…It felt very, very strange. Certainly not what I expected."

Kylo nods. "Normally, a… Jedi, for example, would simply put a command in someone's head. For instance--" he looks for permission, and getting it, he tells Snap to reach into his pocket and find whatever comes to hand first. "Something simple. Or a command to look away, to forget… most often, a Light Sider who chooses to do this… acts on the path of least resistance, and harm, because it is… considered… ethically more grey than not."

He lifts Snap's hand, holds it so he can't move it at all. "This is the simplest thing to do. And if required – either side could go into another's head. Read their thoughts, their memories. I could find out what you ate, at dinner. I could find out what you wanted to ask, but didn't dare. And I could show you what I wanted inside my own mind… truth, or fiction. I could make you believe you'd pulled that trigger and murdered the girl, without you even moving your hand…" The grip on his wrist goes, and Kylo sighs. 

"Normally I would have more control. But Snoke was trying to redo years of work in a short space of time. I was not… focused." 

Snap's eyes go wide, and his hand drops again at once. Even having agreed to it first, it's clear he wasn't prepared for any of that. And his reaction to the mere idea of being made to _think_ he'd killed Jess… is hard to miss. "I can see the benefits, sure," he says, just a little shaky. "But… it must be a strangely terrifying power to have."

"All my powers are terrifying," Kylo replies, gently. "Anything I can do, I can use for harm, or for… good. I can destroy a man's body or mind with a thought, or send him flying across the room. I can…" And his hand up, lightning flickering between his fingers; contained and dancing between the digits… "Cause untold agony. Or I can land a TIE with it, to save a man. I can make eyes turn the other way, so there's no need for death. I can hold a crumbling building up, or I can stop a blaster-bolt in mid-air."

He knows how dangerous he is, he really does. "I could slip against your mind, and take away the pain of an injury, until you saw a medic. Or I could pull out some distant memory of a friend long gone, one you thought lost, when you needed to remember what you fought for. My world is… different. I'll never be the same as you, in some respects. But then… I'll never fly a ship like you can, either." 

Kylo doesn't say this in any way to belittle Snap, or Poe. It's just the truth of it; he has skills they don't. "It's why I was made into a weapon." 

"…I see that," Snap manages, eyes even wider at the sight of that lightning. "I mean, I grew up with stories about this kind of thing, but… it's different, when you actually encounter it. And… mostly I'm just glad you didn't kill me, or Jess, and that… that Poe got you out, when he did. Partly because he was a _wreck_ without you, and partly… because of what I felt when you got inside my head. Because of what I realised you were going through, and I…"

A pause. Measured. Still careful. "…I felt terrible, leaving you behind like that, on Akiva. I mean, I know there was nothing I could have done, that I _would_ have gotten killed if I tried, but still… I just thought you should know."

Kylo lowers his head, just slightly, in… acknowledgement. Acceptance. Gratitude? Perhaps. "If you'd stayed, then I would have been forced to take you back to the First Order. And eventually Snoke would have forced me to end you. But not until he'd made sure I extracted every last drop of intel from you, and tortured us both in the process. I told you to run, because I knew that. It's why I… why I made Poe leave, too."

The sparks fade, his hand drops. "I… appreciate your understanding. I…" Kylo's struggling, clearly, even to breathe. It feels like a heavy weight on his chest, making every gasp an agony. "I didn't tell… people. Before. I didn't tell anyone all of it. Poe… knows… most. But I…" Swallow. Breathe. "I was ashamed to admit it. So I hid it, and let myself be broken, because what Organa-Solo, what Skywalker, would allow it? None of them. Only me." 

"I'm not so sure that's true," Snap says, not to argue, but because his instinctive need is always to try to cheer people up. "Anyone will break if you pressure them hard enough, and long enough. The only difference is you actually went through it, and… Maker, I realise I have no place talking to you about any of this. I just… Poe's told me some of it, and I figured… you could probably use a friend, too."

"…" Kylo looks up, utterly baffled that he'd use that word. He ripped through his skull. Admittedly he did the same to Poe, and they're _engaged_ , but… maybe the difference is he didn't rip through Snap's own mind, in this instance. He spilled out, yes, but he didn't exactly steal, or violate his own memories. "I…" 

" _Poe Dameron if you don't get your perfectly tight behind in here to save me, I might go Dark Side on you. HELP._ " 

"…I appreciate… the offer." _HELP_.

Perhaps mercifully, Poe is capable of being quick in the shower – when he's in there alone, at least – and he's near enough ready when he hears Kylo's voice in his head, and… well, that's worrying. He only left them alone for _five minutes_ , and surely that's not long enough for any serious disasters to unfold, and…

…He'd better go check. He's found spare clothes – supplies have been left for both of them – so he finishes pulling a shirt on, and then paces back out in search of his boyfriend, his best friend, and whatever calamity they've created in his absence.

"…I hope you two are behaving yourselves out here," he says, stepping out and… OK, both of them are intact and there's no sign of weaponry or Force lightning. His eyes go to Kylo, and then he moves closer, putting a careful hand on Kylo's arm and looking over at Snap.

"Wexley, what did you do to my boyfriend?"

"…Nothing?" Snap tries.

" _It was awful. He said nice things to me_ ," Kylo complains, melodramatically. And pouting. He is good at pouting. 

Poe gives Kylo something of a look. It is a very, very loving look, albeit hinted with just a touch of exasperation. " _Maker forbid_ ," he shoots back, even his mental tone dry.

And then he turns to Snap. "You were doing that thing you do, weren't you?"

"Which 'thing I do'?"

"The _thing_ where you're all disarming and friendly. The thing you do when you've decided you like someone."

"You mean, acting like a decent human being?"

"…That's the one."

"I don't like it," Kylo says, though it isn't serious in the slightest. "What do you do with it?" And by 'it' he means 'Snap'. "Is it damaged?" 

"You like me just fine," Snap insists. Much more easy in manner, now the heavy part is said. "You need more practice at the friendly parts, though. I can help with that. Right, Dameron?"

Poe actually facepalms. "…If you two are going to do this, I'm getting back in the shower. Or finding somewhere else to drown myself."

"Nah, you love it really."

"I do not need lessons in how to be friendly. I need… people to bring me things to eat and let me murder galactic despots," Kylo argues, but only weakly. "And to never, ever, ever see Admiral Ackbar again. In my life." 

"Kylo, you're with the Resistance now," Snap points out. "You can have all those things at once, the friendly parts included. Though I can't promise you won't see Ackbar again. He is kind of important around here."

"He's going to tell me he told me so." The Sith huffs, and rolls his shoulders. "And even if he doesn't, he'll think it really loudly." And it's bad enough that he h--

…with… the Resistance. His eyes go briefly wider. He is, isn't he? Even blowing up the Starkiller and deciding to kill Snoke, he'd only… partially been accepted. A wildcard, a turncoat. But now he plans on staying – and he planned on it the minute Poe slipped him free – and that's all kinds of weird. 

"I think… I should shower, too," Kylo says, and runs from the room to have a small existential crisis in said shower. " _I'm fine. You play nice. I just need some air_ ," he says back, reassuring Poe. And realising a little too late that he's flipped out and been a touch rude. 

Kylo's sudden departure does seem to take Snap by surprise. "…I never realised Sith Lords could be so… _skittish_ ," he remarks, though not at all unkindly.

"He's had a rough… forever," Poe manages in reply. He waves distractedly at the nearest couch. "Do sit down. You're making the place look untidy."

"It isn't untidy, it's artistic," Snap insists, with a grin, and the two of them settle on opposite couches.

There's a moment's pause before he speaks again. "You doing all right?"

All joking aside, the concern is still as genuine as it comes, and Poe knows it. "Yeah," he answers. "I mean… this is going to take time. Lots of time. But… _he's here_."

Some part of Poe still can't quite believe that.

"He is," Snap says. "And… even with Skywalker's death… the sense of relief on base is palpable."

It's a good thing to hear. Even though Poe knows there will still be difficulties, still be trust issues… it's a start.

He looks down, hesitating over his next question for a moment before he speaks.

"He… showed you something, didn't he?" Poe asks, carefully. "I felt little flickers of it down our bond. Not enough to know what was going on, but… there was something."

Now it's Snap's turn to look down. "We were talking about Akiva. And… about how he was in my head. I told you I… saw things, when he was."

Poe nods, carefully. "You did, yes."

"So… I needed to ask him a little about that. I needed to know… why it happened, I guess. And why I saw what I saw. He told me it was… I don't know, some kind of mental bleed-through because he was trying to resist Snoke's control over him. Trying to stop everything dissolving into a massacre. He said he didn't mean for it to happen. But it was so…"

"…Intense?" Poe says, with the slightest touch of a smile, despite it all.

"Yeah. Intense. And he did that thing again where he just… takes control of you… and it… Poe, it's _weird_."

"It is certainly that," Poe agrees, now trying not to blush.

But Snap notices, of course, and arches a brow at him. "…I won't ask."

"…Probably for the best."

"Also he had some of that Force lightning at one point…"

Poe actually facepalms. "I _see_. Well… at least he's talking to you."

"Yeah," Snap says. "Even if only a little. Did I actually scare him?"

"…Sort of. I don't think he's ever really _had_ any kind of social life." The thought makes Poe's chest ache. The idea of being _that_ alone, for so long… "But I think he appreciates it really. He wouldn't let you do it otherwise."

"I figured. When you're both feeling better, you should both come to pazaak night."

"My boyfriend can read _minds_ , Snap. Even you will not be able to beat _Kylo Ren_ at pazaak."

"…I can still try," Snap replies, with a grin. "But… I really meant just for the social side of it. I know several of the other pilots want to get to know him."

"Give him time. But… I'd certainly like that, if Kylo would too."

"Then I look forward to it. For now, I should leave you two in peace." Snap slaps his hands lightly on his knees, and stands up. "I realise you're off-duty for the time being," he adds, "but… we're out on manoeuvres tomorrow, eleven-hundred hours. Just in case."

"I… probably shouldn't leave him yet," Poe replies, carefully. "But I won't forget."

"Someone more important to you than flying," Snap muses, with a little smile. "It must be love. Catch you later, Dameron."

"That you will. Thanks again for dinner."

"Don't mention it."

And, giving Poe one last clap on the shoulder, Snap heads off, closing the front door behind him.

When he's alone, Poe drops back on the couch, arm over his forehead, letting his mind drift a little. Not sleepy, per se, just… processing.

He has a lot of that to do right now.

***

It's a little while later.

Outside, the sun has set, and the light of at least one of the three moons is glowing through the windows. Kylo and Poe have finished eating the food that Snap brought them, and now they're curled up on the larger couch, just… enjoying the closeness.

Which would be when the knocking starts at the door again.

"…If that's Snap, with a bottle of something alcoholic and a deck of pazaak cards, I'm not letting him in," Poe murmurs, realising the remark is completely out of context but not quite caring.

Kylo's eyes unfocus slightly, and then he shakes his head. "It's Rey and Finn," he says, and sounds half-dejected. Can't the galaxy let a man cuddle his fiancé for a while? They've never really had a chance to just… relax in one another's company for this long before. Not somewhere civilised, without threat of imminent Sith Testing. He holds Poe tighter around the waist. 

"…think they'll go away for a few hours if we pretend we're asleep?"

"If you want us to, we will," comes Finn's voice through the door. And then a little yelp as he's hit on the arm. 

"…Rey was on the _Decimator_ with us too," Poe reminds Kylo, very gently. And… also because he's been concerned for her as well, since they got back. "Plus, she and Finn made out before we left. I didn't tell you that part yet. So we were totally right."

He grins, kisses Kylo on the side of his head, and scrambles up to go open the door.

Rey and Finn are indeed on the other side. "We… don't mean to intrude," Rey starts out, sounding a little cautious. "We just wanted to see how you are. Both of you. And…"

There is clearly an 'and'. Poe gives a slight headtilt. "Come on in."

"Who kissed whom?" Kylo asks, choosing to deflect for a moment before he engages with the rest. He stays seated as they enter, but immediately wonders if he should have gotten to his feet or not. He's never really been interrupted in private time like this, before. 

Finn has the decency to blush. "Were you running a book on us?"

"No, just cautiously hopeful you'd see sense," Kylo says, with a little smile. 

Finn checks with both of them before sitting, perching on one of the other couches, clasping his hands between his knees. 

Rey obviously can't hold back a smile at that. "I kissed him," is her answer. Not bragging, but not shy, either. She settles next to Finn, close enough that they're touching, and puts her hand on his arm.

Poe, meanwhile, goes back to Kylo, curling in beside him. Not at all self-conscious about doing it in front of the other two. "You all right?" he asks. The question to both of them, but Rey especially.

It is she who answers. "I… don't know. I will be. But… I feel… lost, without Master Skywalker. I was just starting to understand what I really am, _who_ I really am, and now…"

Finn squeezes her hand, trying to reassure her. "That's why you need to train her," he says. "When you can. We need to take Snoke down."

"…I'm… aware of that need," Kylo says, and bites the inside of his mouth for a moment. "And I'm… sorry. I'm sorry that I ran off, and got my uncle killed. I really am. But you should know that – what I know – what I _am_ is… not really who you are." 

"You use the Force, and want to kill bad guys?" Finn's eyes narrow. "That's what matters."

"…that's… that's not entirely how the Force works." Kylo thinks this would be easier to explain if he actually knew the answer. 

"So explain it to us?" Finn pushes. 

" _Please_ ," Rey adds, in agreement. She looks simultaneously lost and found. "You understand this too. Maybe from a different angle, but… you do. Maybe in a way no one else does."

Kylo Ren, Master of the largest known collection of Dark Side Force-users in modern times, flinches. His hand moves to slide between clothes and Poe's side, needing that grounding sensation to keep him going. 

"It's… it's a matter of… direction. Temperament. It's two ways to get to the Force, to get to the power you can reach. Both sides use very similar abilities, with a few exceptions: mental work is _normally_ considered more Dark than not, but is not an immediate failing act. Lightning is… Dark. To my knowledge, only Dark-adherents use it. But it's… the Light is strongest when you can control things. When you can detach from the moment, and think. There's some feeling, but it's… it's… peaceful. It's… like something you're above, or outside of…"

This is really hard to explain, but mostly because he's never had to. Not really.

"Dark is… emotional. It's powered by your gut and your heart, instead of your head. It taps into strong feelings, which… can be angry, but can also be not. It's about passion, about **wanting** , but also about fear, and _not-wanting_. Most feel one more strongly than the other. In fact… most Jedi have some Dark in them, and resist it. I'm… I feel both sides. I… feel the Dark very strongly. And for a long time, I threw myself into as much negative emotion as I could, thinking it was the solution. But I… now temper it with thought, control, compassion. It's still in me… but you, Rey. You feel…"

How do you say it? His head cocks, as he tries to voice it. "You feel more Jedi than not. There's still emotion in you, and still **Dark** , but you… would wield the blue sabre, where I wield the red. And I worry that I am too… red to train your blue." 

Rey listens to all of this, very still, very quiet. There's reactions in her eyes, but no more. Not until Kylo falls silent.

"You're not," she answers. Partly in hope, part in certainty. "I know you've been through a great deal, and that… that you've been an adherent of the Dark Side for a very long time. But I also know you understand both, and the connection between them. That you were a Jedi once, and even if you no longer are, you still… _know_. And now… this balance that you're trying to find, this middle path… if you can come at it from the Dark Side, surely I can do the same from the Light?"

"I was a Jedi, and I fell," Kylo says, and his hand on Poe grips tighter. "I'm afraid I might do the same for you, or lead you too far Dark. I… I…" Deep breath. "I don't want to corrupt you. They didn't train Jedi in the Darker side of things because of the risk of them turning."

"But you could stop her," Finn insists. "You know what that – that too much is, don't you? And you know that _some_ Dark doesn't mean all Dark."

"…I just… I worry how I can train someone in something I wasn't good enough to do myself," Kylo confesses. "If I'd been able to fully master the Light and the Light alone, then we wouldn't be in this mess, and there'd be a whole Order of Jedi out there." 

"I thought… you said that place helped you?"

"Helped me become a _Sith_."

Finn frowns. "But a balanced one?"

"Finn's right, Kylo," Poe says, very gently. "The path you're on… it's an old one, yes, but it's also a _new_ one. The galaxy hasn't had anything like this in a long time. You… have the chance to make something of it. To… lay the foundations of a different Order."

"I can help you with that," Rey adds. "If you're training me, I can… help you keep the balance in yourself. Remind you of the Light, when you need it. Even if you're the master… it's still a two-way process."

"I know, on some level, that I must," Kylo agrees. "It's just that – until very recently – my thoughts, my actions, weren't even my own. Or… not entirely. And I… have seen things through a filter. Unlearning it, and remembering lessons that didn't click with me the first time around, is going to be very difficult. I'm… aware of the enormity of this. Of how essential it is…"

"Hey, if anyone can do it, it's you and Rey." Finn says this with complete and utter faith in his voice. "Luke Skywalker said he saw things, didn't he? And he was a great Jedi. So if he thinks you two together are worth his sacrifice…"

Another wince, and Kylo tries so hard to keep breathing. "He was my uncle," he reminds Finn, very softly. "And he was once my Master, too."

"And he's gone. And it's real sad, it is. But he's gone, and you two aren't." Finn doesn't even sound unkind, just politely firm. "Two of you, against one Snoke. And if you can work out how to fight together and make one another stronger – gunner, pilot – whatever analogy works – then you gotta do it."

"…yes." Kylo knows, but it doesn't fully click inside. 

The analogy makes Poe smile just a little, despite everything else, and his eyes meet the other man's for a second before he turns to Kylo. "This will help you too," he says, softly. "You and Rey can learn from each other. And you have me. And your parents. You're… not alone anymore, Kylo."

And he grips his lover's hand tight.

"I know it won't be easy," Rey says, full of determination. "But I'm going into this with my eyes open. And I know we can make it work."

" _What if I ruin this, and doom the galaxy?_ " Kylo shoots across to Poe. He wishes – just for a minute – that he had his mask back. But that was a different him, one who really had to hide. This one just wants to.

" _You won't,_ " Poe insists, gently. " _You won't. You're not alone_."

"Give me until tomorrow?" Kylo asks. "We can start then. I… also have to adapt to my new sabre. Although it won't all be sabre-fighting I need to teach you, it will be a very major part of this. We'll need to work out how we can maximise our efficiency, and overlap our techniques. You'll need to use other Force abilities around the blades, but the main thrust is going to be – no pun intended – our sabres. And our minds. And likely my lightning." 

Rey nods. "Of course. And… thank you. I promise you won't regret this." She looks so full of hope. Aware of the responsibility they both carry, now. But still full of hope.

"Please don't take my reticence to be a doubt of your ability, or commitment," Kylo says. "It's me who is the problem in this. A few days ago I was Master of the largest army of Dark Side users in living memory. And now… now I'm… training someone to be a Jedi?" His tongue clicks against his teeth. "It is a big transition. And I'm… I'm just hoping I can do you justice."

"We'll do each other justice," Rey tells him. "I know it." She smiles, just for a moment, almost shyly, and then she puts her hand on Finn's arm again. "We should probably leave you in peace."

"…tomorrow. An hour before lunch. I'll be… there was a clearing, somewhere nearby? Wasn't there?" Kylo's eyes flicker to Poe. "I got glimpses of it. I'll be there."

Finn gets up, and offers his hand to Rey. Not because she needs it to get up, but because it's nice to do so. "You make sure you look after him, Poe. He looks like he needs it."

Poe smiles up at them both. "I will," he replies. "You can count on that."

"Tomorrow it is," Rey agrees, as she stands.

And, with a glance back as she goes, Rey follows Finn over to the door, and the two of them head off, leaving Kylo and Poe alone again.

"Do you think the whole base intends to visit?" Kylo asks, once they're gone. "Because it's going to put a damper on my Poe-time if they do. Perhaps we need a sign outside the building, so they know when we're not to be disturbed?" 

Poe laughs just a little, and curls in closer. "It's a good thing, Kylo. It means people care. They're concerned about you. It's nice." It's also very reassuring.

"Concerned about me, or checking I'm not murdering you?" The Sith sounds a little worried, still. "…I'm… not used to people wondering if I'm okay, other than you. Mostly it was only in an: 'is he ready for battle?' mentality. Don't you find it draining, when there's so many people around?" 

"I like it," Poe answers, gently. "I like the comradeship, the connection. The feeling of being part of something made of many different people. It's… good, to be able to care about them, and have them do the same in return. And these people… they've been there for me, for months now." Ever since General Organa recruited him, since he left the Republic Navy. "It doesn't drain me. It invigorates me. And… I know it must be a lot for you to get used to. But you can have that feeling too, if you want it."

Kylo lets his hands slide over his lover, under shirt, over side, just holding him. He all but pulls Poe into his lap, and pushes fingers through his hair. "They did keep you going for long enough to come get me. For which… I'm thankful. It's just… difficult for me. The last t-- the last… real connections I had… you know what I did to them. I didn't want to, but I did it anyway. And I hadn't dared make any others until I met you."

He doesn't intend on murdering everyone here, he just needs Poe to know that he fears what he can do to them, if they trust him. "I want to try, but… slowly. I'm still worried someone will jump up on me and I'll choke them before I check if they were just saying 'good morning' to me." 

Poe goes willingly when he's pulled in, curling closer. "I know. And I'm not trying to rush you, I promise. I just… want you to understand that you can have these things again. That it's all right. That–"

He's interrupted by a sudden thud at the door, followed almost immediately by a second, slightly more insistent one.

"…Again?" Poe murmurs, grinning.

But he's barely managed to extricate himself from Kylo, making for the door, before said door springs open and BB-8 comes whirling in, beeping and booping and chittering. It spirals around Poe several times, bumping at his heels, saying something about how it waited all day because it knew they were sleeping, and then Snap said they were awake so now it is _here_.

And _then_ the little astro spins over to Kylo, stopping right next to him, dome angled upwards to stare at him, rocking just slightly with excitement and hope and concern.

Kylo blinks. "You… were giving us space?" 

BB-8 softly beeps that of course it was, it knew they needed time, and then they were likely sleeping, and it didn't want them to feel sad.

Kylo allows the droid a small smile, and awkwardly pats him. Just once. "I'm glad to see you, too. Poe was rather vocal on the part where I had to come home."

BB-8 agrees, and then spins some tight circles in excitement, asking if that means they're going to stay, and stay here, and stay together?

"Poe… you did tell him what… ah… what we agreed, right?" Kylo asks. 

"Of course," Poe answers. He drops down onto one knee to look BB-8 in the eye. "He's staying. With me. I promise."

The little astro gives another happy string of beeping, voicing its approval for this plan, and then goes to bump in close to Kylo again, offering belated congratulations on their engagement.

Poe turns to watch, grinning. "You see? You made a friend."

"Isn't he more or less programmed to like who you l-- OW!" 

BB-8 makes a sound that sounds distinctly like a raspberry being blown.

"…I was joking," Kylo grumbles at the astromech. "Seriously." 

"BB-8 is an excellent judge of character," Poe says, and then he grins again. "That's how you know you're onto a winner. I certainly do."

He settles back on the couch at Kylo's side, curling in, still smiling as he does. He has his lover. He has his astro. The Resistance is safe, at least for now.

Things really are looking up.


	39. Apparition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Time for that unexpected visitor we teased last time around... ;-)
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

Kylo has no idea what time it is, simply that it's late, and it's dark out. He hasn't set a chrono to local time yet, and he doesn't even know what this planet's cycle even runs to. Or what time he arrived. Or what time it was aboard the _Decimator_ , when they left. It's been a whole jangled mess of action and reaction, saving, sandwiches, and… well. Some pretty wonderful sex, too. Around all the sandwiches.

Which is why Poe is currently out like a light, curled up with sheets arching over his legs and his hands under the pillow and his hair making a glorious, beautiful mess around his head. Kylo's still tangled in him, but he… he needs… something calls to him, and he knows he needs to answer.

A brief shower, as quiet as he can, and he pulls on the bare minimum clothing required. Hitches the sabre hilt to his belt, and kisses Poe's forehead. "I won't be long," he rumbles against his temple, and then eases Poe slightly further under.

The man needs it. If Kylo hasn't slept much the past month, it seems Poe slept even less. 

He can tell the calling, the summons is different. It doesn't feel anything like Snoke's ever did. He doesn't walk out into the night afraid of a distant, former Master. It feels too Light for that, or at least… it feels benevolent, and not the other thing.

Through glimpses of Poe's memories, and what he saw coming in, he finds the clearing Poe used to train in. The grass is cold and slightly wet underfoot, and in the distance there's a faint blue glow in the shape of a Human. Oh.

Kylo's never seen a Force Ghost before. Heard of them, yes, but Darth Vader would never appear to him, no matter how hard he begged him to. The figure – hooded – doesn't turn immediately.

So Kylo addresses him. "I suppose you think I should be grateful, but you really didn't need to die, you know." 

There is a slight pause before the spectral figure moves. An edge of timing, not hesitation, that betrays an existence which is no longer fully linear. The figure turns slowly, head and shoulders first, looking back.

But it is not Luke Skywalker. It is not a man.

It is a woman.

"That was all so very long ago, now," says Darth Revan, smoothly. "I think perhaps you could forgive me for it."

She turns to face him fully, her every movement slow and easy, yet measured all the same. She's dressed much as she was in the holocron left behind on Eigengrau, without the mask of her own, and she reaches up to drop her hood, looking back at Kylo Ren with a careful, calculating expression.

And… the barest hint of a smile.

"…ah." Crap. Probably shouldn't sass the Sith, Kylo thinks. Complaining to your uncle is one thing, complaining to your Sith Master… possibly a bad idea. "I apologise. I took you for someone much… younger? Older?" How do you pick which word is more suitable, when you have no idea of her age when she died, or even if that matters? "Someone more recently deceased." 

Kylo lowers his head, just a little, and holds the position of respect before looking back up again. She deserves his deference, but he suspects she wouldn't want a cowering wreck to be her legacy. "Darth Revan. I am… honoured." 

The Sith of Old gives him a little nod in return; an acknowledgement, certainly. Perhaps more. It is hard to say for certain. "I thought it only right to speak to you directly. I had long since given up hope that anyone would find the temple on Eigengrau again… and then along you came, hot-headed and angry and so very, _very_ full of potential. I must say, I am impressed, and that is not an admission I would ever make idly. To pass the tests alone is an achievement in itself. To do so with a non-Force-sensitive at your side is…"

That faint smile does not fade. "… _passionate_."

"He may not have the Force, but he is strong," Kylo says, puffing up a little in defence of his lover. "Strong, and filled with his own passion and fire. Had he access to the Force, he would surely rival me in power." 

A little ache at the thought of that. What would the galaxy have been like, had Poe been Force-sensitive all along? If he'd been there, from the start? He doesn't know. He likes to think maybe the other man would have saved him sooner. He's certain he'd never have been able to kill him. Whether Kylo would have found his middle path with Poe alone… possibly. But to master his abilities as he has? Probably not. 

"I should thank you for such gruelling and exacting standards, though I also remember how hard they were. But that, I suspect, is more than the point." Without such difficult testing, how would he have ever completed his apprenticeship? "By the grace of _your_ training, I may yet defeat Snoke." A pause, a tilt of his head. "Why do you call to me now, Master Revan? Why now, and not before?" 

"Why else?" she replies. "You stand, now, upon the brink of a powerful, galaxy-altering decision. I do not mean this so-called 'Leader', Snoke – though I recognise the absolute importance of killing him, for both you and for the galaxy as a whole. I mean, instead, your own path, and that of the young woman who turns to you for training. It is a difficult, narrow road to walk. You come at it from the Dark, and she comes from the Light, and in the middle… you meet. A Grey Sith, and a Grey Jedi. That alone is striking."

Revan paces a little closer, her eyes never leaving Kylo's. "You have an opportunity before you. You are free of the restriction imposed by the perceived Dark-Light dichotomy. The fallacy of the false choice. You understand, now, that you do not have to pick one over the other. That you can be _both_. It is a hard understanding to reach; I know _that_ all too well. But, having done so… you stand where I once did. A fallen Jedi, once lost to the Dark, now pulled back to Balance by your strength of will, revitalised by the one you love. By his _Light_. And, now, you have a very _real_ choice to make: to hold back on what you have learned, or to let it spread. You can train young Rey, whose potential shines so brightly in the Force, and then – when you understand just how ready for this you are – you can take it further. You can build a new Order, Kylo Ren. You can finish what _I_ started."

"…an Order of _both_?" Kylo asks, watching her face, reading her cues as he can't feel her physical presence for them like he would normally. Her presence in the Force is different to a living being's, and it's unsettling, and difficult to keep track of. It's not quite like talking to a holo, but something… completely different. She exists only in the Force, and without the normal, organic background noise, it's… strange. Very loud, very quiet, both at once. 

"With her to teach those who are more Light, and me… those who are more Dark?" But both managing to incorporate elements of either side? He wonders if it would work. "Has there ever been such a thing, with… both sides training together? And I do not mean Jedi training future Sith, or Sith corrupting Jedi?" 

"Not fully, no," Revan answers. "I tried to bring it about, but the Jedi Council would not be swayed." Her eyes narrow a little, a flicker of anger that takes a moment to suppress. "They were powerful, and influential, and so very stubborn, and they did not see the need to listen to me. I… suppose that was not a surprise, given our history. Unable to garner their support, I could only go so far. I built up my new Sith Order, my Grey Sith, doing all I could to ensure they went on, after my death. Hoping that, one day, some among the Jedi would reconcile themselves to what I knew to be true. To take the leap I had already made."

She bows her head again, just a little. "It was not to be." There is no further elaboration on this, and Revan does not look at all eager to discuss it. "But Eigengrau endured, and it slumbered, and it waited. It was waiting for you, _Darth Kylo_. For you, and for Rey. She comes from the Light, yet she turns to you for guidance. You come from the Dark, yet you look to her for hope. Between you, I believe you can finish what I could not."

"The Jedi were ever foolish," Kylo says, with a sigh. "And slow to react to what changes needed making. They never realised, did they, that half of all those who fell were simply incapable of denying who we truly were? They would destroy, rather than adapt." 

But this is something both Sith know all too well. 

"…Master Skywalker – my Uncle – he… I thought you were him. He sacrificed himself, to give me a chance to help Rey, to… finish what you started. And… what my grandfather was born to do, though the galaxy pushed him too far either side of the line in him, as well. So. There are no more Jedi. No true Jedi. For the first time…" 

Last time, both Obi-Wan and Yoda had held out. This time, there is simply a Padawan, who could be so much more, but knows nothing of the lore, or the teaching. Kylo – if he wanted to – could very properly bring an end to the Jedi for good. But he… doesn't want to. He wants this other thing, this… compromise. Balance. Middle-ground. 

"We understand both sides. And that is how we teach," he says, thinking aloud. "I may not favour the Light, but… I have it. Even Snoke recognised it in me. And though the Jedi could not save me, I will save them." Perhaps having a Jedi who had not been indoctrinated for years would mean a better, more compassionate and passionate space for Force-users. There is a sudden thrill of potential, and Kylo's hand goes to the hilt on his hip. Him, Dark. Rey, Light. 

"Will you guide me, Master Revan? You were a Master in the Light, before you saw the Darkness, were you not?" He doesn't feel ashamed to ask. He has only ever taught his Knights of Ren, and it would be foolish to turn down whatever assistance he can get. To turn away such a depth of knowledge and experience of both sides. She had, after all, progressed much further in her Light studies than he ever has. 

"I was, yes," Revan answers, levelly. "I was a Knight of the Republic. The _Old_ Republic, as it is to you now. I knew the Light all too well. I could never truly return to it, once I left, but at the same time… I understand the benefits in it. The justice, the control, the compassion. Perhaps even the serenity, in a strange way. To temper the power of the Dark, those things must be maintained, because without them, too many will Fall."

As I did, in the beginning.

"I will guide you. I came here to guide you. I have walked too long amidst the ruins of Eigengrau, whispering my visions to the dead stones. It is time to see those visions fulfilled, and I know they can be fulfilled in you."

"I will do it," Kylo insists, voice a little firmer. "I will do it, so no one else Falls for no reason. So no one else is forced into an impossible choice." Heart, versus control. He can't be either entirely. He's spent fifteen years trying one, and another fifteen the other, and it has gotten him nothing but pain until now. 

"I will find a way to temper both." Though it is going to be hard, he knows that. Knows it all the way to his core. "Do you have any counsel for me? I know I must show her how to resist the Dark powers Snoke wields. And how to focus her strengths, so that she compliments my own. But is there anything else I should consider?" 

"She needs to do more than merely resist the powers of the Dark Side," Revan answers. "She needs to understand them: how they work, why they work, where they come from within a person. Not necessarily to make use of them, no, but certainly to see what drives them, and _why_."

"Take… Force lightning, for instance." A spectral hand rises, lightning crackling between the Sith Lady's fingertips, as easy as breathing. "It is extraordinarily difficult to resist if you cannot wield it yourself, but it can be done. You discovered that, on Eigengrau. Yet, at the same time, the more you experienced it, the more you understood it, and now… you can create your own. It is the understanding, the experience, that is key. You will need to demonstrate things to Rey that she might never wish to do herself, and you will need not to hold back."

"And… her mind…" Kylo winces. "I will need to… show her that." It would mean letting her see things, like Poe did. Like Snap. It would mean opening that door inside of himself, the one he pretends isn't there. "I must teach her how to **use** the Dark, as I can still use the Light, even if it is… not our first preference…" 

But to do so, without causing her to Fall… no. She has more Light in her than he does. Or more affinity for it, perhaps, a greater attunement to it. Maybe it isn't her Fall he's afraid of, he wonders, but his own inability to keep on this path.

"Did you ever – did you ever falter?" He feels terrible even asking, but he needs to know. 

Revan smiles, letting the handful of Force lightning fade out in an instant. It's obvious from the flicker in her eyes that _very_ few could ever ask her that question without consequence, but that Kylo is one of said few who can. "Many, many times," she answers. "The pull of the Dark Side is strong for me. I Fell twice, in both cases of my own volition. I revelled in the power and the victory and the sense of _invulnerability_ that the Dark offered me. It was years before I was first able to give consideration to the idea of Balance, and that… still took a great deal of doing."

Her expression goes just a little distant. "I could never have done it alone. I _would_ never have done it alone. I was pulled back by the one I love… and that is something I think you can relate to. Even after I found the Balance at last, I still wavered over and over – not out of lack of conviction, but because the Dark Side is so very, very easy to Fall into…"

She headtilts. "To make this work, Kylo, you need three things. You need to want to do it, on a fundamental level. You need to accept that it will never be easy. And you need someone who will always, always pull you back when you falter."

"I have the last, if nothing else," Kylo says, with a sad (and knowing) smile. He hurts for her, because he knows how it feels. And because she didn't have anyone to guide her, just a lover who was stubborn enough to see the Light and not give up. "You were strong – perhaps the strongest of all – to do it with none to guide you. Which I am sure you know, but I suspect the Jedi would break their tongues in two before they told you." 

He's grateful, though. Her tests certainly gave him a place to work through his demons without Snoke able to interfere, and gave him a crucible to reforge himself in. The words of Balance only came at the end, his own willpower and Poe's determination to save him brought him to the conclusion. Change, after all, has to come from within.

"It is my only path, and my only choice. And it is a choice, but the only one I wish to make, and the only one that makes any sense. I either do this, or I run away from the galaxy, and leave it to ruin itself against that monster. And… leave the others like me without hope for a future. I won't let any child suffer that, not again." Kylo's certain on that front. He might have his flaws, his temper, his arrogance, and his self-doubt, but he knows he'd go through hellfire on his hands and knees to protect another Force-sensitive from the nightmare that was his past. 

"And that is how I know you _can_ do it," Revan tells him, a hint of pride in her voice. "I would not have come here otherwise. You proved your strength and skill on Eigengrau, but the real test is what came next. You kept to the path, when you no longer _had_ to; not because it is easy, and not because it offers quick result, but because it is the _right_ path to take."

"The galaxy needs you, now more than ever. The loss of the Last Jedi leaves it set upon a precipice. Without the Light, there can be no hope. Without the Dark, there can be no truth. You and Rey must see this done, Kylo, because – when you do – it will bring about a new age. It will return the Force itself to Balance."

A gesture – a hand quick to move – a twirl of wrist and a weapon forged from Darkness. Kylo holds Darth Vader's lightsabre before him, and with a press the blade springs forth. Unlike his own, this one sings sure and true. This one doesn't come from inner conflict and turmoil, not like Kylo's had. It sings with deadly potential, and it casts a light of its own. 

Red. And somewhere, slumbering, waiting to ignite: _blue_. The two needed, to make things right, to keep things _level_. He holds it close to his face, and breathes slowly. 

"Your efforts will not be in vain, Master Revan," he tells her. "I will make you – and everyone – proud of me." He pauses, and firms his jaw. "But not because I need to, because I _choose_ to." 

It is clear enough, from Revan's expression, that she knows the history of the lightsabre in Kylo's hands. That she understands the meaning behind it, the importance of it. The _relevance_ of it having passed to Kylo. She gives him a nod, eyes lingering on the glittering red blade.

"Indeed. And that is why you will triumph: because there is nothing more empowering than being the master of your own destiny."

Revan paces in closer, so they're fully face-to-face – with the sabre blade glowing between them – and then meets his eyes. "May the Force be with you, Darth Kylo… Master of the Knights of Eigengrau…"

And the Force Ghost fades quickly back, the Sith of Old vanishing from view.

Kylo waits for a moment, with the blade still lit. He holds it in place, making a promise – to Revan, to Anakin, to the Jedi and to the Sith… and, perhaps, to the galaxy – before he switches it off, and affixes it to his belt.

He never wanted to be quite the hero. Not in the same way all children did, mostly because he saw heroes wandering around with toothpaste smeared at the corners of their mouths, or because he heard them arguing about milk and bedtimes, or because the galaxy was supposedly saved… but he's sure most people forced into these positions have their weaknesses.

He has many. But he also has strengths. One of which is currently still in bed, asleep, if their Bond rings true. And he would very much like to go see him, so he can thank him all over again.

***

Inside their small dwelling – a whisper to the droid that it's all fine – off come socks and shoes. Kylo pauses, when they're removed, and looks up across the bed. Poe is so peaceful in his sleep, or he is when he's happy. His lips curl into smiles about private jokes, secret happinesses, and Kylo's heart aches to watch him.

He does, for a few minutes. He indulges in it. He sees the peek of warm, olive-hued skin from below the sheets. The way the fabric curls around him like it loves him, and the way his big toe wiggles from time to time. Kylo watches him, and he's so happy. He's so happy that Poe is here, and safe, and warm, and content, and loved. He's so happy that they have a home… a family. He'd never thought he would be able to have these things for himself. Never in a million years expected he would be able to shuck off his clothes and sneak into bed behind him.

Kylo slides an arm around his lover's waist, pulling him back so they're flush together, and rains down a little welcoming storm of kisses over his shoulders. "Are you asleep?" he asks, knowing he mostly is, but… just wanting to talk. 

"…Yeah…" Poe murmurs, softly, pressing back against him nonetheless. Smiling at the contact, the closeness, the…

He gives a tiny, sleepy laugh. "Your hands are cold." Still a little too hazy from sleep to fully work out why this might be, but he finds Kylo's hand against his hip, pulling it in, trying to warm him.

Kylo smirks, and slides his cold hands lower, trying to stroke down to his thighs. Poe is so much shorter, so he can reach a bit lower on him, and bend his knees to make Poe bend, too. Spooning, don't they call it? He kisses higher, and breathes in the scent of his hair. 

"You want to stay asleep?" he asks, with a slight hint of devilment in his tone that suggests the answer isn't supposed to be 'yes'. He finds Poe's earlobe between his teeth and bites down gently, then traces the inside swirl of it, just the outer curls as he presses Poe's ass back against him. 

"Would you take 'yes' for an answer?" Poe replies, with a _significant_ hint of devilment in _his_ tone. He curls back against Kylo all the more, making a soft sound of approval at the contact, and very clearly wanting more.

"What I intend to do to you is more fun if you're awake," Kylo points out, and then pushes his still-cold-hand between Poe's legs. He knows his fingertips aren't warm when they grope firmly at his ball-sac, and he knows from experience that if he licks a hot stripe behind Poe's ear between fierce nibbles, that the man melts like butter.

"How many ways do you think I can fuck you, before you come?" the Sith asks, his growing interest starting to press against Poe's cheeks. He slides his fingers further back, prodding and probing nearer his hole. "You think I could take you every which way, or will I need to use the Force to hold you back from breaking open the first time I slide into you?" 

"That depends on… _oh_ … how persuasive you are…" Poe manages, a shudder of delight running through his whole body. All of him now waking up _fast_. "You know my blood _burns_ when you touch me… but I can hold back for you, if you bid me to. **Master**."

"I want to see which angle is best," Kylo says, and pulls his hand away (sadly) to reach for the lube Poe so thoughtfully managed to find at some point between all the millions of guests and sandwiches. He worries he asked BB-8 to get it; the bottle looks like it would fit inside his chassis. He uses one knee under Poe's, spreading him wider, and rubs some of the too-goopy substance on his fingers. "First I want to take you slow, like this. Arms and legs around you. Making you wake up in my arms, making you feel safe, and loved. Want to show you how gentle and slow I can be, before I take you so hard you think no one ever fucked you until I did." 

" _Yes_ ," the pilot murmurs in agreement. The idea alone is oh so very lovely, especially to his still-sleepy mind. "I want to feel how much you love me. How much you need me. And… I want to show you how much I feel the same…"

Any and all contact is bliss, and right now the more gentle side of it is especially wonderful… doubly-so because they haven't done anything rather _less_ gentle since Kylo got back, and Poe is still a little worried about how it will go, when they do.

But this? Careful, safe, loving… this he can do. Oh yes.

Kylo keeps up the kisses, warm, soft lips writing his name all over Poe's neck, hiding the skip in his own heartbeat. It hurts, almost, holding him. Hurts because of how much he cares for him, and how much he needs him, and how very fragile life is. They've come so close to losing one another so many times, so close to this thread being severed into two. He nearly broke it himself, trying to keep Poe from harm. A necessary evil, but an evil all the same. And now he just wants to reaffirm their bond – Force and otherwise – and remind Poe that he can be this, too. As much as he's a Sith, he's his lover, and he's determined to make him feel as good as he can.

Poe's still sleepy, and relaxed, so he barely resists at all when Kylo's fingers breach him. It's a pressure against a little resistance, and then they're inside, and in that dark, loving place. Inside, where only he gets to go, now. His Poe. He feels the way it sparks out through him, and Kylo watches how Poe reacts in the Force. Normally they don't manage to keep 'slow' up for long, so he's determined to last as long as he can. He slips an arm under Poe's head, bending his elbow across his neck, and holds him gently there, too. The position has some power and potential for threat, but he means it to give him a sense of security. Make him feel surrounded, but not smothered. Protected and adored. 

"You are the most magnificent person I have ever met," Kylo whispers, his voice low and reverent. "I have met Masters of Light, of Dark, of both. I have met men who could make worlds shake. And you – you make them all pale into comparison, Poe. I would take you before anyone else. Only you." 

"If I am, if I do… then it is because of you," Poe whispers back, closing his eyes, slowly losing himself in how this feels. In how much he _needs_ , body and soul. "Before we met… I was waiting for something, looking for something. _Longing_ for something. It was you, Kylo. You. And when I found you… when I _realised_ I had found you… you woke me up…"

The slightest touch makes him gasp, now, his body going hyper-sensitive under the attention, and under his own, growing sense of need. Not just the physical element – although that is a part of it – but the deeper, emotional element too. The sense of rightness, of completion. Of wanting to be nowhere else in the galaxy but _here_.

Kylo takes his time, wanting to coast this out, wanting to make Poe go as far under as he can with just his fingers. A spark inside of him – not lightning, just heat – and then he swirls those fingers around and around like a spoon through caf, chasing the shifts of his hips, chasing the eddies and currents in his breathing. Poe really is too beautiful for words, in the Force, in his heart, and in his body. Kylo bites over his neck, as his fingers work harder. Tiny little nips that he licks better, barely hard enough to really be called bites. He laps roughly with his tongue over one, as he finds that place inside of him and presses against it, over and over.

"Don't come," he insists, low and sure. "Just ride my fingers like I'm your ship." 

Poe's hips are moving without him having to think about it, the need building gradually higher and higher, but not to the point where he'll break. Not yet. He whimpers just a little nonetheless, as those fingertips find _precisely_ the right spot, his whole body going tense as a shiver of not-quite-completion runs through him.

"Please," he whispers, his still-sleepy mind adrift on the sensations, on how good he feels, on how much he needs this. Needs _him_. "Oh… Kylo… _pleasemore_ …"

"Keep going," Kylo orders him. "Slowly. Show me how much you need me. Fuck yourself on my hand until you're sure you're going to explode if I don't slide into you instead… but know, even when I do, that I'm _nowhere_ near done with you…"

Oh no. Kylo's going to make good on that promise. He intends to bend Poe every damn which way he can, and slowly, and then finally – finally – let him come so hard he can't even keep his eyes open to say 'thank you'.

The shift in the other man's voice makes Poe's mind white out for a second; the sudden sense of being _owned_ leaving him breathless and shaking, far more than just the fingers inside him would explain. He doesn't resist it, though – by the Force, no – and lets himself sink. Lets himself fall under Kylo's will.

He does as he's told, too; hips moving a little faster, the desperation a hard thing to fight, and the need absolutely impossible to ignore.

"…Please…" he murmurs, again. Begging now.

"More." Kylo's voice is rough, but insistent. Sure and deadly. He wants to feel Poe's desperation hit, and hit hard. His fingers bend and spread inside him, making him ready for what's to come. Not that he needs to, but because he wants to. Oh so very badly. "Faster. Harder." 

It doesn't take much. Not here, not now. With a world that _hadn't_ just put him through the last four weeks, Poe could take this so much longer. But here, now… the desperation does hit, half-physical and half-mental. The need for release, and the flicker of fear, the echoes of an all-too-recently-escaped hell still licking at his mind.

" _Please_ ," he begs, a third time, not slowing, not stopping, not _daring to_. "I need you, I need you, I need you…"

The slightly darker edge doesn't go unnoticed, and Kylo pulls his fingers out. Pulls them out, and slides his cock in place, instead. One fast, sure shunt of his hips and he's fully inside of him. He grabs Poe's thigh and clamps it down, pressing his legs together, making him a tighter hole. Still spooned in behind him, knees bent, and fucking him slow and sure.

"Like that, love?" he asks, tone much more gentle, but still wrought with emotion. "You have me. You have me. All of me. You have every bit of me, and I'm going to make you so happy, I promise. With all of my heart, I'm going to make you so happy, and so whole, and so complete…" 

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps, as Kylo pushes into him like that, the feeling running all the way through him, making him press back, trying to get the other man as deep as possible. Needing so badly that he can't think straight. He can barely think at all. "Please, Kylo, please… I'll do anything, anything… I'm yours, all yours, I promise, I promise…"

"I know," Kylo says, and he finds Poe's hand, and locks their fingers together. Holds him, and opens up their Bond more, inch by inch. He doesn't want to flood him too fast, doesn't want to make it too much for him to cope with. "You already do. You give me all I need and more, Poe. You make me so happy, too. So happy, loved, and cared for. Safe, like I said I would keep you. Like _you keep me_."

A promise that goes two ways, he realises, as he takes him a little harder, a little faster. He rolls them, so Poe's pressed down flat against the bed, face-first, and grabs both hands and holds them on either side of his head. This angle isn't good for going deep, or hard, but it means he can cover him from head to toe as he kisses at his cheek. "Tell me what you need, Pilot. Do you need it harder? Do you need to know you can still take all I can give?" 

The sudden shift of position sends Poe's adrenaline levels rocketing up, his heart racing. It isn't that he's afraid of Kylo – not that, never that – but rather that he's afraid of how much he needs this, and that he shouldn't push for it, and… that those four weeks of hell have broken him, somehow.

But he can't say it. Not considering what _Kylo_ went through. Everything else outright pales before that. Poe tries to stop the thoughts sparking down their bond, but he knows he isn't quite managing it, and that worries him too.

_Stay here_.

"Yes," he gasps, in answer. Very much meaning it, despite the tumult in his head. "I need you. All you want to give me. Everything, anything… please… Kylo…"

"Talk to me," Kylo insists. He could take the answers from his head, could slide in as easily as he does into his body, but that isn't the point. To do that – right now – would be too close to that thing that neither of them wants to happen. That thing that isn't _them_. He won't do it, not… not like that. "Don't hold back from me. I love you," he says, and holds his hands harder. 

"Poe… I love you. I love you. Don't keep things from me, not now. You've seen the Darkness in me. You've seen the tragedies written on my soul. You know. Don't think anything you could do to me would be anything other than _love_." 

"I need you," Poe whispers, but it's more than a simple lover's plea in the heat of the moment. It isn't just 'fuck me' or 'touch me' or even 'love me'. It is so very, very much deeper than any of these, and than all of them combined. "I need to know I'm yours. Need to know I'm…" He can't say it. He has to say it. "…strong enough to be everything _you_ need."

What happened has shaken him to the core, and the feelings are still rising to the surface, disjointed and confusing, and he hasn't quite worked out how to deal with them all yet.

"Oh _Poe_ ," Kylo says, his heart breaking at the admission. He lowers his head, touching the back of his lover's. Stilling his movements, just buried deep inside of him. "You **are**."

Perhaps it isn't wise to do this. Perhaps it isn't wise at all. But Kylo isn't sure how else to convey it to him, than to let him _feel_. "I'm sorry for this," he says, and he does it anyway.

_On board the_ Decimator, _as if they never left. The sounds of battle in the distance, and a world bled empty of life, of Light, of beauty. A terrible, desperate pain in his chest. A howling voice – Kylo's own – screaming but so far away from the world. A need he'd cut so close to the wick that it bled and ached and that **voice** , the one they both know. An insistence, a command, an order, a reality. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him._

_Kylo can't. Even now. He can't. Won't. Won't won't won't. The pressure that's been there – all along – all along. The voice he could never throw out and it tells him to kill him, but he's here. He's here, and Kylo can't let him in or it will hurt him. It will hurt Poe. He will hurt Poe. They will hurt Poe. Sabres crashing, and he knows he needs to protect him. Begging him without words to leave. To leave, so he can be safe. To leave… or end him. Be free from him. One way or another. To be as far from here as it's possible to be. Kylo can't fight the voice off, and he needs Poe to be okay._

_But Poe won't leave. He won't leave. A connection all but severed, and he stands there with his old sabre like he's some avenging Sith angel. No Force, and he'll still fight. And Kylo loves him all over again, though he's terrified of hurting him. Anything he can do to push him away, anything at all. Anything to keep him from the slightest pain._

_Poe won't yield. He'll fight him to the end. Not him – not him – the **voice** , He's fighting the voice, where even Kylo can't. Stubborn and brave and beautiful, and Kylo wishes he had half the strength of mind, of heart, as his lover. He should go, and he won't, and Kylo holds him and he **knows**. He feels him and he **knows**. Poe is his strength, even after everything. Even after everything, he still won't give up. And it's the last bit of strength he needs himself and he **throws out** the bad voice because Poe is there, because he's so – so very –_

Kylo rushes every last thought and feeling into him. Everything. It all goes at once; the surface-thoughts, the deeper-thoughts, the needing and the craving and the fear and the worry and the self-loathing and the hope and the terror that he's going to ruin the galaxy but the knowledge, the surety, the soul-deep conviction that if nothing – **nothing** – else… he has Poe. And Poe has saved him. And Poe is perfect. And Poe is his, and Kylo loves him, and offers everything to him. Everything he can, and everything he has. He kisses his neck, and he flares out the emotion he feels so keenly, the darker things and the lighter. All at once, all so loud that the inside of his head and heart could _never_ be peace, nor serenity. There's no up, no down, no right, no wrong… just the absolute faith he has in him, and the sincerity that would move a mountain as soon as look at it. 

"Don't you see?" Kylo whispers. "You are stronger even than me." 

Poe isn't prepared for any of this, not the push into his mind, not the memories of the _Decimator_ , and certainly not the intense rush of feelings that follow. He tries to process it, tries to find some way to deal with it, to build on it, and he…

…He tries to see himself through Kylo's eyes. As Kylo saw him on the _Decimator_. As Kylo sees him now. He tries to push back the doubt in his own mind and find the strength in who he is to his lover.

And it's different, from Kylo's point of view. Brighter, hotter, louder, a mess of disjointed colour and emotion. Poe doesn't feel like the man Kylo sees, when he remembers that encounter, but… he is. What he did, he did because he was desperate, because he was terrified, and a large part of him expected to die in that room. Was _ready_ to die in that room.

Only… it didn't happen that way. It didn't, and Poe didn't break, didn't falter. Didn't kneel, when Kylo told him to, in anger, because… he doesn't surrender for bad reasons. He surrenders for _good_ ones.

And it worked. He was strong enough. He got them out. He brought Kylo here.

They're both here.

Poe draws a deep, shuddering breath. He can't do much, pinned down like this, so he tries to reach out across their bond, to touch Kylo somehow. He still doesn't understand how it works, but… if it does, it does. And, right now, he needs it to. For both of them.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "It's… hard, not to doubt, after four weeks of… of all of it… Hard not to let the fear slip back in…"

Hands still holding his, stroking him, finding how it feels in his body and inching it higher, so he feels grounded. Holding him in the moment, in the now. Kylo kisses again, and nods. "I know. But fear… fear is okay. Fear of something that can hurt you is okay. It's normal. It's sensible. It keeps you from jumping without looking, or without a reason. It's not wrong. It's only wrong if you fear things so much you never jump at all, or you build yourself a fortress inside yourself, to hide in."

More touches, making him burn slowly with every inch of them that makes contact, making his body louder and louder. Not pain, not discomfort, just… bright and vibrant and undeniable. It's true, Kylo's power is a terrifying one, but he can use it for good things, as well as bad. Good things, like telling a brave man it's all right, and giving him a safe place to land. 

"You can doubt as much as you need, and I'll reassure you, every time. You can worry, and I'll hold you closer." Another rake of himself against Poe's mind, edging things higher, then letting them ebb slowly back down. "If we're honest, if we… admit how we feel… we can help each other. If you're ever not sure, you can always come to me, Poe. I'll show you how wonderful and strong you are."

And he is. Kylo knows it, as sure as he knows oxygen. More sure, because oxygen passes through him unnoticed, more often than not. "I know what it's like. To no longer be sure what's real and what's not; to doubt your very memories; to be broken. But the difference is, this time, we can put one another back together. Whatever it takes, I'll do it; I'll help you, Poe. He won't ever get to you again, and I'll never, ever leave you again." 

"I love you," Poe whispers, slowly relaxing under the other man. Slowly sinking deeper inside his own mind. "I… am sorry. It's a lot to recover from, and my thoughts keep… slipping. But I have you. I love you. I _need_ you. Please… please… fuck me, claim me, own me… I need you to, Kylo… please…"

He does. His blood still burns with it, fear and desire blending together in his head, a confusing, tempestuous tangle. But an undeniable one.

"I will," Kylo promises. "I will, because you're mine, and because I love you. Because you deserve more happiness than I could ever offer, but I'll try, all the same…" Still holding his hands, a slow and sure rocking of their bodies together, still joined. He wants to pull him slowly back into feeling. 

He keeps up the touch inside of his mind, never really leaving it, making sure Poe knows he's right there, on top of him. Right there, loving him, as he makes each thrust a little rougher, a little harder. Drags through his physical reaction, and then slides a hand under his waist and – in one sure move – pulls Poe up onto all fours underneath him. 

" _Ohyes_ ," Poe gasps at that, dropping his head down, surrendering all the more. He needs this. He needs the physical side of it, most assuredly, but he needs the mental side all the more. Needs to feel himself not run from it, not be afraid of it. Needs to feel how _wonderful_ it is.

He can't do much in this position, so he rocks his hips back, making it quite clear how much he wants this. How much he wants any and all contact from this man who defines his whole world. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours." Almost a litany, now. Wanting to give him _everything_.

Kylo reaches around him, a hand finding his full cock, stroking it much slower than the shoves of hip to ass. He's maybe doing a bit too much in the multi-tasking department, struggling to keep the assault up on all three fronts, but trying all the same. "I missed you," he says, as he pushes his forehead between Poe's shoulderblades, giving up on stroking and instead just fucking him into his fist. "I missed you before I even knew you, and I missed you more once I did."

All his life, with that hole inside. That doubt and confusion and a sense of not-belonging. Trying to fill it with ever more horrific acts, and finally feeling complete just by seeing him kneel. Kylo's emotions crest all over, and he bites down on Poe's shoulder, trying to cope with how keenly he feels. He pulls Poe hard against him, and then he grabs him with both hands and _flips_ him, somewhere between in-and-out, grabbing both legs under the knee and fucking back into him with their eyes locked.

"Going to make you ache with how hard I love you," he promises. "Make you feel it all week. Going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name, but not _mine_." 

" **Yes** ," Poe gasps, _loving_ that. Loving the sudden movement, the firmness, the feeling of being pulled open. "I want you to. I need you to. Break me in half, and write your name over everything that remains. I'm yours, all yours, and I trust you with everything… with it all… with me… Kylo… _Kylo_ …"

Eyes wide, he stares back, letting Kylo in, wanting him there. Wanting him deep inside his head, mentally and emotionally, on the wings of the Force and on nothing more than that look, which burns its way through him, white-hot and cleansing.

Poe's legs bend really rather well, which means when Kylo surges forwards on one shunt _in_ , he can grab his mouth and steal any more words by licking his tongue clean into it, swiping over any lingering syllables and swallowing them all, greedily, whole. 

" _Mine, mine, all mine, always mine, always mine and always safe_ ," comes the silent promise, as he lets his own physical satisfaction wash through him, so Poe can feel how it feels to fuck him. " _Give me your Dark, give me your Light, give me **you**_."

Hands on hips, and he sits back and drags Poe with him. So he's kneeling on the bed, and Poe's wrapped around him, and he hammers him up and down on his cock like he weighs nothing, like he's just an extension of his own body – and he **is**. He uses him as hard as he dares, and then a little extra for good measure, and sends a command for him to not – not – not – and then _yes, come, now_ as he still bounces him furiously hard in his lap. 

And Poe _screams_ in broken bliss, holding on tight, not remotely sure which way is up anymore, given both the rapid changes of position, and the fact that his grip on the world has just _gone_. Completion bursts through him, hot and hard, his whole body shaking as he comes rough and fast.

"Yes… yes… I'm yours, all of me, all of me, I promise, I promise, all yours…"

The words trip off his tongue, instinctive and heartfelt, each one an offering to the man who owns them all, to the man holding him as the shocks of bliss run all the way through his entire form, every inch of him hypersensitive and _needing_.

"I love you, I love you, I'm yours…!"

Kylo keeps it up for as long as his mind and his body can handle, but in reality the minute Poe howls, he's lost. Or a lot longer ago. Always, maybe. Lost, and also not. Poe hasn't even finished spurting between them when he moves them again, throws Poe down onto his back, rams the last few times inside (so tight, so tight, tensing and glorious and perfect and so, so, so damn good) and his cry is even less sensible. 

He flares out again through their Bond, sending a sudden shudder of _fear_ , but it's the good kind of fear. The fear of being known, vulnerable, loved. Not the panic of monsters under the bed, but the way it feels to be headlong into someone else, and never wanting it to stop. Kylo slams a hand over Poe's throat, and kisses him even more breathless than choking alone would do. 

The kissing is so wonderful that Poe's mind goes hazy, not just from the lack of oxygen – though this is part of it – but also from how good it feels to be so needed. So wanted. So very _taken_. He can't speak out loud, but he murmurs in pleasure, his feelings on the matter still very, very obvious.

The world starts to go sideways, and the last tension drops out of his body, his entire form going limp and pliable beneath the other man, completely unresisting. Open, and trusting, and _his_.

And… he drifts, on the sensations, suddenly, gloriously _free_.

Kylo smiles. A real, genuine smile. A happy one, one sure of himself, of his place, of his love. He did this to Poe. He did this… he breaks from the kiss and drops onto one elbow, stroking over his brow, over and over.

Poe's so far gone he's not sure how much sense of the world he's making, but he knows he has to keep that warm bubble up for as long as possible. "It's going to be okay," Kylo tells him, low and heartfelt. "It's going to be okay, because I have you." And if he can make even one person – Poe – happy… it's the biggest, most important step to saving his own soul.

"I'll be here, when you wake up." Even though the dreamfulness he's in? Isn't one of lies, of untruths, of disconnects. It's the other kind of dream: the ones about the future. The good ones. He kisses his face over and over, murmuring wordless promises, praise, and adoration.

"Sleep," he tells him. "It's okay to sleep."


	40. Learning Curve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, readers! We're back with another chapter to brighten your Tuesday. ;-)
> 
> (Also, a brief note - Shadow Side here - we apologise for the slight delay in getting this chapter up. I'm currently running a 38.5 degree fever - that's about 101 degrees to our friends across the pond! - and as such am not at my coherent best. But we didn't want to leave you guys hanging!)

Poe feels a lot better the next morning.

A _lot_ better. He knows the ups and downs won't stop any time soon – knows this is a process, and not an easy one – but that just makes him all the more determined to enjoy the good parts when they come.

Right now, he and Kylo have just finished breakfast, and they're getting ready to go out and face the day. It's still strange, somehow, to be able to enjoy this kind of normalcy, even if – at the same time – it isn't really normal at all.

"I'll be in the air at least an hour," Poe is saying to Kylo, as he pulls his boots on. "But if you need me, ground control will be able to reach me. So, if anything happens, anything at all…"

He isn't fretting, per se. It's more that he knows what Kylo is going off to do, and he doesn't want the man to feel alone.

"I'll call you over our Bond, don't worry. But I think I can at least manage an hour with Rey. And probably Finn." Kylo doesn't mind being fussed, though, not in the slightest. It's nice. He… feels cared for, and it makes his stomach skip over the remnants of the pancake things they had. "I've been working on a--"

Oh, oh wait. He realises he still hasn't told Poe about last night. He'd been too, ah, distracted. "…lesson plan with… Darth Revan." Yeah, just say it like that. 

"I was actually thinking of…" Poe starts out, before hitting the mental wall _hard_ and turning to stare at Kylo in wide-eyed surprise. "…Did you just say _Darth Revan_?!"

"Yes?" It isn't supposed to sound like a question. "I – ah – had a little talk with her. Last night. While you were asleep." It had been something of an experience, but Poe is also an experience, and life seems to be full of quite a lot of them at the moment. Maybe he needs to keep an agenda. 'AM: Breakfast with boyfriend. Sparring with new Jedi Apprentice. Lunchtime: See if BB-8 will cover for us and take sandwiches and boyfriend. Afternoon: Plot galactic overthrow? Evening: Fondue. Boyfriend.' 

"…Darth Revan," Poe repeats, again, as if this is going to make sense at some point soon. "The same Darth Revan who built the temple on Eigengrau. Who has been dead for _thousands of years_. **That** Darth Revan?"

"I was unaware there were multiple Darths Revan," Kylo replies, tone fond, but marginally exasperated. "You are – uh… you were aware that those strong in the Force can come back to speak to the living, weren't you?" 

"I… have heard rumours but… " Poe is still staring. "…You actually saw Revan's… ghost? And she… What did she say to you? I take it she approved of the path you've chosen?"

It's still a lot to wrap his mind around. Death is death, and yet… a powerful Force-user can come back like that? Even knowing that the Force exists, and – academically – how it works, this particular concept is still a little beyond him.

"Yes. She… well. She was impressed we got through her tests, together. I told her that if you had the Force, you'd be more than strong enough to rival me. She… wants me to forge a new Order. Knights… but not Ren. Eigengrau. Unite my teaching, with what Rey will come to teach. Make… make it possible for Force-sensitives to learn without fear of rejection. With support, and compassion." 

He sounds oh-so-very drawn by the idea. "I also told her I was afraid I would Fall, again. But… I have you to stop me." 

Poe smiles, stepping in closer and sliding his arms around Kylo's waist. "Yes," he says. "You have me. And… a whole new Order? That's…"

That's what all this is leading to, isn't it? When Poe stops and thinks about it… it must be. With Luke Skywalker gone, there's just Kylo, and Rey. And… Eigengrau. It's strangely perfect, in a way, even if it's a daunting thing to consider. And that's just from Poe's point of view. For Kylo, it must be…

"…I'm here for you," the pilot says, softly. "Whatever you need. Whatever it takes to make this work."

Kylo hesitates, for a moment. Not out of a desire to conceal, but out of an attempt to frame what he wants to add. "I need to speak to them. To my Knights. They… they should be offered the chance to turn back, like I was. Even if not one of them takes it, you… do realise I owe it to them, to try?" 

Poe grips Kylo's hands tight. He does not like the thought of Kylo making contact with those people, so sure they're still under Snoke's thumb. Still _dangerous_. But, at the same time… Kylo is right, and Poe knows it. More than knows it, _agrees_ with it. They can't simply abandon them without even trying.

It would be wrong.

"I know," he answers, softly. "And… I know it won't be easy for you. But you're right. You have to try. If you believe in this new path – and I know you do – you have to offer them the same."

Kylo's tongue flickers out over his lips. "Even if they all refuse me, the first time – which they will – it will… show them. There is an alternative. That they have… a path they can follow. A home to come to. Somewhere to not be alone, and… someone who will train them, and… forgive them." Because Kylo knows he's made them worse. On Snoke's orders, but he's done it. And he owes it to the people they could be, to try.

"I'll find some way to comm them, somewhere they can't trace. Even if all I do is show my face and tell them they can leave Snoke… it will put doubt in their minds. Perhaps, over time, it might… I might save some of them." Even one. Even just one, he would be grateful for the chance to redeem. 

"It might be enough to nudge them out of the Darkness," Poe agrees. Alarmed, still, but supportive too. "And… if you could win them over… they'd be powerful allies."

He knows it likely won't work, and it almost certainly won't work for all of them. But Kylo is right. Even if they saved a single one, it would make the whole thing worthwhile.

Poe knows that much. He woke up this morning next to the living proof.

Kylo grabs Poe's face, then. In both hands, just to hold him. Just to feel him, and to smile down at him. Holds him, and knows he's blessed. He tugs Poe up as he leans down, touching their heads very lightly together. "You're going to enjoy flying, again. Properly flying. And you're not going to worry about me, because I'll be fine. I'll be fine, because I know you're coming back."

And then a little smirk. "But if you want to co-ordinate a fly-by, when I'm in the middle of training, to impress your squad and my… Apprentice… I'm more than happy to conspire." 

" _I'm_ your Apprentice," Poe points out, with a smirk. "Rey's your Padawan. You get both, remember? Although… the flyby… I'm sure I could work something out. I _am_ the squadron commander, after all…"

"Good point: my Padawan." Kylo shudders, over-dramatically, and then steals another kiss. "I know which one I'd rather have." 

"Kylo," Poe says, gently, a hand on the side of his face. "You're going to be fine at this. Better than fine. Rey knows you, and she trusts you, and between you… you'll be unstoppable. Now… go start the next chapter in galactic history."

"I didn't just mean to _train_ ," Kylo points out, and pulls Poe tight to his chest. Pushes his head under his chin, and wraps around him for one last, stolen moment. "Fine. I'll go." Still not moving. "I'll still miss you. But it'll be an okay missing you. Because I know you'll be safe." 

"Yes. I'll be safe. And so will you." Poe holds on tight. It's weird, but this is the first time they've parted and it _hasn't_ been because of desperate necessity or world-shattering catastrophe. Which… must explain why it feels like this.

He lingers a long time before he steps back. "Come on. I'll walk some of the way with you."

Kylo slides an arm around Poe's waist, just to hold him, as they walk outside. BB-8 follows excitedly, glad to be needed for flying again, ever the optimist. 

Outside – a little way away – Rey is watching Snap and Finn discuss something in great detail, and Kylo gives Poe one last hip-check before they walk up to them.

"Are we really that late?" Kylo asks. 

"Nah. We're just eager," Finn says. 

"…And up to something," Poe surmises, looking between Snap and Finn.

"Classified," is Snap's immediate response. "For now…"

Poe gives him an arch look, but doesn't argue. "Suit yourselves," he says, grinning. "' _Classified_ '. Come along, you. I feel like I haven't flown in _weeks_."

Which is far from the truth, of course, but this will be the first time in a long time that he's been able to enjoy it.

"…We're doing atmo again, aren't we?" Snap guesses, with a fake groan.

"Yep."

Poe turns, and kisses Kylo on the cheek. "Miss you already."

Rey, meanwhile, grips Finn's hand, and smiles. She looks a little nervous… but so very hopeful as well.

"Try to come back with your actual ship this time," Kylo says, and squeezes Poe's arm once, before stepping back. Then, to Snap: "I'm entrusting him to you. For now. See that he's back in one piece."

"Copy that," Snap says, with a grin, and claps a hand to Poe's shoulder as the two of them head off.

Then Kylo turns, and tilts his head in the direction of the clearing. "I assume Finn is coming for moral support?"

"Is that okay?"

"It will actually help with a lot of the training, in all honesty," Kylo replies. "I'm going to train the Dark in Rey, as much as the Light. And the Dark needs… an emotional response."

"…right."

"Don't worry," Kylo says, a slightly evil glint in his eyes. "I'm perfectly safe." 

"…just tell me what to do, and I'll do it." 

"I haven't… trained with the Dark yet," Rey says, even though she knows both of them are already aware of this. "I guess it's going to be… different."

"Different, but not bad," Kylo reassures her. "Where Light is about focus and control, about… distance… the Dark is about presence, about gut, about wanting. It's your natural instincts, your emotional core."

The clearing shows nothing of what happened the night before, and Kylo moves to stand in the middle of the clearing. He nods to one side, where Finn will be safe, and the ex-trooper puts down Poe's old jacket and sits on it. 

"I have to teach you the techniques of the Dark Side. The ones that Snoke will use. You need to – if not master them – learn to use them to some extent, and counter them, too. What has Master Skywalker taught you in my absence? What did he focus on?" 

"Several things," Rey answers. "At the time, I thought he was trying to give me an overview, before we began to work on specific areas. But, I realise now…" her eyes go a little distant, hinted with pain, "…that he was trying to impart as much as possible, whilst he still could."

Pause. Deep breath. It's clear she's had some training on centring herself, on controlling her emotional responses. "He taught me several sabre techniques, and ways to focus my mind during battle. We worked through meditations, as well, on… the Code of the Jedi, and what it means. And… some of the more practical applications of the Force. Moving objects, anticipating actions."

"Good. We will need to make sabre training a core of your learning. We're going to need to train you to be a weapon, first, and later… the fine detail. If we both get through this, I'll help you get all your techniques to the peak of their ability. But we _are_ going to need to skew the curve, to begin with."

"Do Force-users only fight with sabres?" Finn asks.

"Mostly. It depends on our opponent. The majority of the time, it's our sabres, and using control over inanimate objects, or our opponent's minds. If you shot me, I would freeze the blast. If I caught you in time, you wouldn't shoot me at all. But when we fight one another… it is primarily our blades. We augment that with physical objects, with mental battles, and… lightning."

"You… did that before," Rey replies. "In the battle with Snoke, on the _Decimator_. It was… how do you even _do_ that?"

She looks a mixture of curious, transfixed, and alarmed. It's a tricky mental state to be in.

"Lightning is… Dark. You need to find a very… emotive place within yourself. Or… I did. When it first used to happen, I was… out of control." Kylo doesn't like admitting it, but he has to. "I couldn't actually focus my lightning for a long time. Even on Eigengrau… there was a room. It was filled with lightning, and I think the actual goal was to fight it back with your own. I… had to get Poe across, and I could barely focus my own, so I developed something of a… shield. You saw that?"

Rey nods. "That's what you did when Snoke used lightning of his own? To hold him off?"

"Yes. I think I need to start with that, with you. Because if I use it fully on you, it's going to hurt. And the more you get used to holding it back, the deeper into yourself you can go, until you can use it yourself to fight back. It may hurt to begin with, but I'll stop if it's ever too much." Snoke wouldn't, of course, but that's why he has to train her before it gets to that.

"First, though, I want to warm you up with some basic sabre fighting. Get your blood running, get you a little out of breath, and then step into Dark techniques." 

She nods again, hand going to the lightsabre hilt at her hip. "All right. I can do that." A twirl, and a flash of blue, and the sabre ignites, though she keeps it down, ready but not aggressive.

Mirroring red, the blade turns on in mid-swirl. "I want you to come at _me_ ," Kylo says. "Not just trying to read or anticipate. You'll do that normally, anyway. I want you to attack me like you have to **win**." He gets into stance, and waits for her to make her move. 

Rey's eyes flash over to Finn, just for a second, and then snap back to Kylo. She raises the sabre, silent and still, instinct obviously making her pause and focus – as a Jedi would – before she launches at Kylo. She's used to fighting people taller than her – Luke, and then Snoke, and now Kylo – so she attacks from lower down, trying to get under his guard.

Kylo has had too much practice to let her get anything past his guard, and he gets a feel for her form (or lack, or mix thereof) before he pushes her back. Without the cross-guard on his weapon, he has to adapt his technique somewhat, but the sabre in his hand is also much stronger, he can tell.

"Stop thinking. **Feel** ," he says, and glances over to Finn. A question in his eyes.

Finn seems to see it, and nods.

Kylo picks Finn up into the air, and then drops him down onto his knees. A command in his head to _stay_ like that, but one he can choose to obey or not. What matters is that Rey feels his first show of control over the man, and knows that he's a potential victim in this. (Kylo has no real intention to hurt him, just to provoke her.)

"Fight me. Fight me, or I'll make you," he taunts. 

The stab of emotion this provokes in the young woman reverberates out through the Force, and her eyes go wide – and a little wild – with it. "Don't you _touch_ him," she insists, pointing the sabre at Kylo. "Don't you _dare_."

It's clear he's touched a nerve, that much is certain, and when Rey attacks again, the initial edge of control is subsumed under a wave of mental fire.

Kylo hasn't, actually, done much to him. It is all the threat implied in the act, and it is all that is needed. He knows, perhaps better than most, what a threat can do to you. It's a cheap trick, but he doesn't have decades to hone her. Later. The fine work can come later. He parries her blows, and notes she's got a lot of that heat in her. A lot of that natural talent for destruction, for sudden rage. Justified, but still rage. 

After several slams, left and right, he throws a wave of Force power out to try staggering her, to give her something else to fight against. "I don't need to touch him, to control him, or to hurt him. And you know that. He knows that. He's known it for longer than you." 

The attack hits hard, and Rey does stagger a little, trying to keep her footing as though struggling against a powerful wave in previously-shallow waters. "He's mine. You don't hurt him. You know what _that_ impulse feels like…"

She doesn't know how to go into someone's mind – yet – but she does clearly know how to focus her thoughts in such a way that another Force-user can pick up on them. And – though it obviously hurts her to do so – the image that flares up, bright and vibrant, for Kylo to see, is himself and Poe, holding onto each other on the _Decimator_ , just after the two sabres died.

"Careful," Kylo growls, his eyes flashing. "Do you really want to know how much _I_ can feel, **child**?" The sabre twirls again, and he brings it ahead of him. "I don't think your little, babyish affair really holds up against **real** love." 

Once, perhaps, that insult would have been meant as one. Right now, he just uses the words because he knows he has to snick open the door inside of her. Open it, and let the torrent flow out. " _SHOW. ME._ " 

Rey's eyes go _dark_. "At least _I_ didn't _torture_ **mine** ," she declares, which, though it betrays how little she really _does_ understand Kylo and Poe's relationship, is still – at least – intensely heartfelt. And _defensive_ , not of her methods, but of Finn himself.

Her eyes flick over to the ex-trooper once more, though she's obviously still paying attention to Kylo because she reacts to his next move before her eyes flick back again, sabre up to bring it crashing down against his, hard and fast.

Kylo finds, strangely, that her anger doesn't touch him. She doesn't really comprehend what torture truly is, she's been shielded from the worst the galaxy has to offer. Even now, he's barely touching on it. He's slapping her gently, to get her fired up. Building her defences, instead of ripping them out of her head. Where once he might have flown into a defensive rage, he feels – instead – sure. 

What he does to Poe has never – _Finalizer_ aside – been torture. 

"I could make you," he says, instead, between thrusts, feints, and shoves. He moves in close, and grapples her wrist with his as their sabres meet between them. Red, blue, bathing them in dancing purple light. "I could slip into your mind, and make you hurt him. I could use this rage you feel. I could make you hurt _others_ , to keep him safe. I could turn you **Dark** , to keep him from harm. You know that, don't you? That he's your weakness…" 

Finn, for his part, shuffles uncomfortably on his knees. This is much different to Luke's training, and he's not so sure him being here is good, after all. 

"He is _not_ my weakness," Rey retorts, though it's clear she's struggling a little. And close to struggling a lot. "He's what I'm fighting _for_."

She throws everything into trying to fight Kylo off, pushing back with all her strength – mental and physical alike – desperate to break the deadlock between them. Desperate for some space to _breathe_.

Kylo senses her need, and keeps the pressure up almost too long, before pushing her off. Walking backwards, guard up, eyes on hers to tell her to _stay_. " **Good** ," he praises. "Good. You're beginning to see. You're beginning to know how you can _love_ , and use it. Now…" he snaps his fingers at Finn, and points for the man to move close to her.

Finn – after catching her eye – does. "Do I just…?"

"Stand there. She has to want to protect you," Kylo says. "She has to know what's at stake. She has to know there's things worth _feeling_ for." 

Rey looks a little surprised by this, by the sudden shift from attacking to praise, but it does give her the space to think straight again. She keeps the sabre held ready, watching Kylo with careful focus, and obviously glad to have Finn close.

Perhaps not thinking this as far ahead as she should.

A sudden flare of white light erupts from Kylo's left hand, the right still holding his sabre lit. He dances the small ball back and forth, poised and levitating between his fingers, before he hurls it towards them.

" **BLOCK**." It has to be instinct, or it won't work. Kylo can't explain a technique, because it's never _been_ one. 

Rey shrieks in alarm, her own left hand going up at once, her mind clearly reeling as she tries to work out – in a split second – what to do. How to stop the bolt hitting. How to stop it _hurting Finn_.

In the end, a physical block is all she can manage, and Rey takes the full force of the blast, crying out in pain and trying to find some way to hold it off, flaring out with the Force, frantically trying to find some way, any way to…

_…a flash in her mind, an image: Kylo, facing down Snoke on the_ Decimator _…_

…and a wall flares up, just enough to fight back the last of the lightning. It only holds for a few seconds, and it's obviously exhausting, but it's there.

"Good!" Louder praise, this time, and Kylo gives her a moment to regroup. It's not a fight, for all he's pushing her close to her limits. It's still teaching, still learning. "Hold onto that feeling. Hold onto it, and tell me when you're ready for me to go again."

Finn, meanwhile, just puts a hand on her waist. "You can do this," he whispers to her. "I believe in you, Rey. You can do this."

Rey gives a soft little gasp, glancing back at Finn, and then looking to Kylo once more. And… nodding. "All right. All right. Do it again."

The fingers of her still-raised hand flex and stretch, then tense again, as she braces herself. Trying to be ready for it this time, determined not to let either of them get hurt.

The lightning that crackles is the same size as before, and Kylo holds it, waiting for the right moment to send it over again. He thinks sustained bolts might be too much, but these brief flares give him the control he needs to prevent any serious, lasting injury. "Hold onto your heart," he calls, as the lightning shoots forth. "Hold onto what you know is right." 

This is easier said than done. Especially when someone is throwing Force-lightning at your head, and double-especially when the most important person in your world is standing right behind you at the same time.

Rey is at least a little more ready for it now, though; a little more braced, and she manages to catch most of the attack in another flare of that Force-wall. A few sparks get through, making her gasp in pain, but it fuels her all the more, and the wall is bright by the end.

"Better!" Kylo's approval rings through the clearing. "You're getting there. But I think we need to call it a day on that, for now. You're going to need to work on this. And I'm going to have to show you, later, how to use this emotion when you're really distracted. When you're pulled in too many places, and you have to make a decision, and fast."

Finn hugs Rey from behind, a quick squeeze, a kiss to her cheek, and words for only her. Then he bounds back to the jacket, and sits back down. 

Kylo puts both hands back on the hilt. "I want you to work from this place you are in, now. This rage and this need and this love. I want you to fight it back down inside you, towards the control, the Light. We're going to practice going through the whole range, back and forth, so you never have to stay in one mode. So you always know there's a way back to the middle. So. When you're ready…"

Rey gives her own sabre a little spin, almost like she's working out tension, and then nods. She takes a deep breath, starting to centre herself again, her expression becoming more neutral as she files the emotion away, storing it up to use later.

Another breath. Another. And… "…All right. Yes. Yes…"

And she steps in to attack again, drawing on the stillness, and not the fire. It's a hard shift to make – hence, of course, why so many do not – but it's clear she's calmer now. More controlled. More centred.

"Come at me, but come at me as if you're ready to back away. Don't put all you have into it, but flow around me. Work out where I'm going to be, and meet me, or move…" Kylo starts to pace, knowing she'll follow suit in their slow circle. 

Rey echoes his movements, mirroring them, sabre held ready, step, step… and she moves in at once, swiping the glittering blue blade upwards. It's a firm, clear attack, but at the same time she's not committing everything to the offensive side. Her feet aren't planted, but rather they're ready to react, to move; to keep up the circling or to retreat if she has to.

Kylo works a little to get to grips with her rhythm, but it's not too hard to find. It's like a song, or a patter of rain on your skylight. There's an underlying system, and when his feet hit right, they start to spar like they've practiced this routine for years. It's elating, and alarming, in equal measure. 

Finn watches with frank admiration, not daring to say anything, but then looking up at the sudden threatening _hum_ on the horizon. No, not threatening… promising. 

Which would be when a certain someone makes good on his word. Up above them, visible through the wide gap in the forest canopy, a squadron of X-Wings come racing past in tight formation. To start off with, they're in a neat, dart-shape – with a white-and-orange X-Wing at the very head – but, just after they burst past, the whole squad scatters, some arcing left, some right, whilst Poe Dameron's own ship goes into a perfectly straight loop. The others follow suit, all from different angles, arcing up and around before they re-make the initial dart formation and race onwards, out of sight.

The manoeuvre in question is called a Hosnian Starburst, and it is not easy to pull off. And the Force itself _echoes_ with how much Poe enjoys it.

"One helluva pilot," Finn says, approvingly, and then looks over to the two Force-users.

"He is that," Kylo agrees. "Now… Rey. Before we train again, I want you to work on that shielding technique. Work on that, and also learn to attune yourself more to how you're feeling. Not to stop it, or make it stronger… just be… _aware_ of when your emotions surface, and why. Take a moment to appreciate them. Does that make some sense to you?" 

Rey turns her eyes from the sky, and back to Kylo, listening carefully. "Yes," she answers. "Yes, I think it does. I will make it my focus. It is… different from what I have done thus far, but I will make it work."

And this is not said in criticism or disagreement – not at all – but simply in acknowledgement of the differing styles, and how it feels to switch from one to the other.

"Continue with any exercises U- ah, Master Skywalker gave you, too," Kylo adds, as an afterthought. "If he gave you anything to continue working on." That's probably wise. It isn't avoiding him needing to train her in the Light, it's just using whatever tools they have for themselves. 

Rey nods. "I will. I can make this work, with your guidance." She smiles. "We both can. I…" She trails off, obviously hesitating over saying something else. It flares out through the Force, though, and she knows it, so after a moment she adds, "…Thank you, for doing this. I know it can't be easy."

"…thank you for being patient with me, in return," he says, as magnanimously as he can. Surprising himself, actually. "I expect in teaching you, you'll teach _me_ more than enough to make it an equal exchange." 

For one, he has to keep an eye on her level, to make sure she doesn't spiral too far. And whilst he's doing that, he's not even worrying about his own balance, it's just falling into place behind him. 

Kylo turns to Finn. "Thank you, as well, for agreeing to be her – ah – training aide."

"Hey, no problem. All I did was sit around a lot. I mean, sure I'd love to do something more involved… but maybe with blasters?"

"We can bring in blasters to the training, later. Then you can help with that," Kylo offers. 

"Yeah. Or maybe I'll get those flying lessons Poe keeps promising."

"If he _does_ offer, I'd take him up on it," Kylo says. "Shall we head back?"

And Rey nods. "Yes," she agrees. "Let's go."

***

It's a little while later, and the X-Wing squadron has finally come in to land.

They've been running manoeuvres for some time, and Poe knows they all need a breather. They land one by one, clunking back onto their landing pads, and clambering out, and he tells them all to take five. Possibly more than five. Lunch takes more than five, right?

Bastian gives him something of a look as he claps Poe on the shoulder, muttering something about crazy Yavin flyboys, and their obsession with G-forces. But Poe knows the man likes it really.

Deep down.

He watches as Bastian heads off, falling into step beside Karé and Iolo, who have locked arms, and Poe still can't work out why it took him so long to see _that_ one coming.

But it makes him smile.

He stays with his own ship once everyone has gone, BB-8 bumping at his heels as they check the X-Wing over. It's a little fastidious, given that they've only been running manoeuvres and haven't even fired the cannons, but Poe finds it soothing, and his emotions are still all over the place, and it helps to stay focused.

"…You all right down there?"

It's Snap, of course. He speaks right as Poe is checking something under the port-side S-foil, and it takes more than a little thought to stop himself cracking his head on the wing as he stands up.

"Yes," Poe insists. "Yes. I'm good."

Snap headtilts slightly, studying his expression the way only a best friend can. He can do a lot with just his eyes, and after a moment Poe gives in.

"…It's still tricky, all right?"

The taller man nods. "I know."

"I freaked out a little last night." Possibly this is an overshare. "At… you know. An inopportune moment."

"I _see_ ," Snap replies, managing to keep his expression level. "You realise that's probably normal? I mean, maybe not the part where you tell your best friend the next day, but…"

He grins, obviously trying to defuse the situation. "Dameron, seriously, give this time. You're both here, you're both safe, and you finally have space to process everything that happened."

"I know." A deep breath. Poe _does_ know, but it still takes a lot to get out of the mindset he spent a whole month stuck in.

Instinct makes him put his hand on the now-broken lightsabre hilt at his hip. He's still carrying it everywhere, despite the fact that he has Kylo back. Despite the fact that the thing doesn't even work anymore.

Snap's eyes follow his hand, and an odd look crosses his face. "…Would you let me borrow that?"

"Why?" Poe asks at once, almost a little defensive.

Snap puts his hands on his hips. "It's a surprise. Trust me."

"Wexley, what are you up to?"

"You'll see. Give me the lightsabre hilt. I promise you'll approve, when you get it back."

It ought to be such a minor request. It isn't.

"Snap… I haven't let go of this since I got hold of it aboard the _Decimator_. The _first_ time."

"I know," Snap says, carefully. "And it won't be for long. Just… trust me, OK?"

Other than Kylo himself, of course, there is likely no one else in the galaxy who could get Poe to do this willingly. But… Snap has been there for him the whole time. The _whole_ time. Seen him with his walls down. Seen him literally, fundamentally _broken_. And the man has never once done anything but tried to help. Over, and over.

Poe nods. "All right," he agrees, still somewhat hesitant. His hand tightens on the sabre hilt, unclipping it and lifting it up. On the surface, it still looks fine, save for a little charring around the operational end. But that's because all the damage is deep inside.

This is not a metaphor. It is not. It is just… mechanics.

Poe stares down at the hilt, and then holds it out. "Here."

Snap takes it, and grins, eyes full of mystery. "Thanks. Trust me on this one. You'll approve. And… I should be going."

"Seriously, what are you up to?"

This only makes the other man grin more. "You'll see, Dameron. You'll see…"

***

It's mid afternoon, and Poe and Kylo have gone looking for Finn.

It's a little while since Poe first suggested to Finn that he might be cut out for more than just gunning, and that Poe could teach him to fly as well. Making it happen has been somewhat trickier, given everything that's gone on over the last few days.

And… also because the base logistics team doesn't want to let Poe near another of their shuttles. Given his tendency to lose the ships they give him.

Apparently Kylo is a little more persuasive in this field. Which… would be why the two of them are now looking for the former trooper, a plan in mind.

Finn's just finished up with Snap on their secret project for the day when he walks into a Sith Lord and his Apprentice. He beams widely at them both. "Hey, guys. What's up?" 

Poe grins back. "So… you remember how I said I'd teach you to fly? Well, how are you fixed right now?"

No time like the present, after all. Especially when flying is involved.

"Now? Right now?" Finn looks around, just for a second. "Sure! That sounds awesome. What am I gonna fly? One of your fighters?"

"…that's probably not the best thing to start anyone in," Kylo answers for Poe. "Start slow, and work up to death-trap." 

Poe looks between the two of them, shaking his head. "My starfighters are not death-traps. They are expertly-honed flying machines. But… no, we'll start in something a little easier. If nothing else, it needs to be something with space for more than one person in the cockpit."

He grins again. "I borrowed us a shuttle." His eyes immediately go to Kylo, and he corrects hastily. "… _Kylo_ borrowed us a shuttle." Same difference.

"Poe is no longer allowed to requisition craft," Kylo explains. "And apparently I still have a provisional flying licence. Or something. I don't know. Maybe Han renewed it every year for me."

"You're coming too?" Finn asks.

"To prevent Poe from somehow losing it, yes," Kylo replies.

"Awesome. So. Where do we go?" 

"I am not going to lose it!" Poe cuts in. "I'm usually very responsible with these things! It's just, lately…"

He shakes his head. "I'm going to go file our route with ground control. It won't take long. I trust I can leave the two of you alone for five minutes?"

And he gives them both something of a look and immediately heads off.

"He's still upset about that," Kylo says, with a fond look after him. Not checking out his ass. Okay, maybe just for a moment. 

"Yeah. Well, he did bring back the _Millennium Falcon_." 

"And you. And Rey. And me. I think they should give him more slack, but he's so cute when he's frustrated." Kylo realises he's just called his fiancé cute. And then slightly blushes. 

"You two are good together," Finn tells him. "You know. Real good." He looks like he maybe wants to clap Kylo on the arm, but then he doesn't.

"As are you and Rey. She's a very wonderful young woman, Finn. Though I'm sure I don't need to tell _you_ that. I hope you make one another as happy as Poe makes me."

"She sure is." Finn has a slightly misty look in his eyes. "Damn, but she's so strong. I mean, not just with the Force. She's just… you know?"

Kylo thinks he does, but in slightly different ways. "I still should thank you for breaking him out, even if I didn't exactly approve of it at the time."

"Uh… yeah." The ex-trooper rubs the back of his neck. "Guess I wasn't popular for a while."

"Oh, you're still not popular – on the _Finalizer_. But I'm grateful." Kylo hesitates for a moment, before adding: "I knew. I knew, when they told me he escaped. I knew it was you who did it."

"You did?"

"On Jakku. I… could feel your dissatisfaction with the First Order. Your… moral objection, and your fear. I knew you were… wavering. And when they told me he was gone, it was obvious to me you had broken him free."

There's a pause for a moment, both men thinking about it.

"Were you gonna do anything? About me?"

Kylo bites his lip. "No. I… no. Perhaps I should have done, and perhaps I reasoned to myself that the First Order's procedures and protocols would catch you. But I didn't… I didn't plan to stop you."

"…you think… because you felt the same way?"

Another pause, this one even longer. "On some level, I must have. I… was torn. As you know. I was torn between loyalty and questioning their methods and their goals. I recognised a lot of myself in you, and I… had no desire to burn it out of you."

Finn does touch his arm, at this point. Just once. Just briefly. "You helped me get Poe out, then, too. I know what it was like. How… you just… had to. Do what they said, or they'd wipe you, or worse. But you stood up to them. And I'm not comparing what we went through, because it was different, but the end goal was kinda the same, wasn't it?"

"Mindless obedience to the wheels of Snoke's war machine? Yes."

"But we came through."

"Do you… I assume by you staying, that you believe in this. In the Resistance."

Finn snorts. "Can't you read my mind?"

"I could, but I choose not to. Unless you're too loud for me not to hear, or unless I have a very valid reason to."

Brown eyes blink at that. "You… can turn it off and on?"

"…yes. As I said: too loud a thought and it's hard for me not to pick up on it. On Jakku you were so loud it was impossible not to read the surface thoughts. But otherwise, I try to maintain a level of discretion."

"Good to know. But yeah: I believe in it. Not just because of Rey, but because… I know what the First Order is doing. What it wants to do, what it believes in. And I don't. I want to fight them, and… here? I guess I can."

"We're lucky to have you," Kylo tells him. "It takes a strong man to break from a lifetime of training. To see what good is, beyond what everyone tells him. Or… her. There's so many of them we need to try to help…"

"Yeah. It… it keeps me awake, you know? I grew up with them. I know some of them ain't bad at all. They just want to survive."

"If we can take down Snoke, and get rid of his web of influence, we can start to dismantle the Order. Offer sanctuary, and amnesty to the others." Kylo believes this to be completely essential. Utterly and irrevocably. 

"Hey, you want me to head up any campaign for hearts and minds? I'm your guy. I mean, if it would help at all, I'd scream from the rooftops to all of them. Maybe some would listen?"

"Maybe." Kylo pats his arm, a little less woodenly than usual. "You should talk to my mother about that. I'm sure the Resistance would love to do some positive propaganda. Some real-life story about what the First Order is, compared to what the Resistance is."

"Sign me up!" 

It's at this point that Poe comes strolling back. He finds Kylo's eyes first, checking he's OK – instinct will make him do that for quite some time yet – and then he grins at the pair of them.

"We're good to go. Ematt all but had me swear a blood-oath to bring the shuttle back intact, but… we're good to go. Besides, we're not even breaking orbit. It's hard to lose one of those things this close to home."

Hard, but not impossible.

Poe headtilts in the direction of the landing pad. "This way."

They trail into the shuttle, and Kylo perches on one of the further-back seats, letting Finn and Poe take up pilot and co-pilot chairs. He can watch from there, whilst also not getting anywhere near any buttons. At least having Finn aboard means they won't end up broadcasting sexual screaming to ground control, and he tries not to think too hard (hah) about that for now.

"So… where do I start?" Finn asks, looking at the buttons and trying to memorise where they all are, before he even knows what they're for. 

"All right," Poe says. It's a while since he last _taught_ someone to do this, but flying is flying. "Thrusters – port-side and starboard-side – are here, and here. Then sublights and hyperdrive… don't touch the hyperdrive. Not today. Otherwise Major Ematt will – and I'm quoting now – 'not be a happy man'. Not _entirely_ sure if that's a threat, or a statement of fact, but I'm not in a hurry to find out, either. Now, where was I..?"

He points some more things out, one at a time. "Power levels, altitude levels, deflector shields. Hopefully we won't need those either. Then… fuel injectors are here, here, and here. And… stick for pitch and yaw. Then, this being a Lambda-class, _that_ switch deploys the wings, or retracts them for landing."

"…which one is 'on'?" Finn asks, weakly joking. He's been reading up on the theory, of course he has. It's just that he's worried he's going to make a mess of this. "Wait… we take off with… thrusters? And cut those out for… sublights? That's right, isn't it?" 

"That's exactly right," Poe answers, putting a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder for a moment. "Precisely when you cut from thrusters to sublights depends on the situation. Once you're used to it, you just… know, from instinct. But, to start off with, I'd recommend you do it when you're well clear of the ground and any other obstacles. Which, here, mostly means the trees."

"Now… when you're ready for this, you channel power to the thrusters and sublights _here_ , and as soon as the levels hit green, you're good to go."

Finn nods some more, and cautiously presses the buttons. He floods the engines a little too fast, but works out what he's doing and slows the pace, before – checking Poe's face for his reaction – he presses things and the ship lifts.

It might lift a little less co-ordinated and smooth than some take-offs, but it lifts.

"Well you're a third of the way there, now," Kylo says, from where he's sitting. Absolutely not gripping the arm rests. Nope. 

"Nicely done," Poe tells Finn, warmly, with a little glance and grin in Kylo's direction. "Make sure you watch your thrust levels, to keep the ship flying straight. Unless you're taking off in difficult conditions – bad weather, or weapons' fire – you can usually just match them to each other. Bring us up to about a thousand feet, and then deploy the wings and shift from thrusters to low sublights."

"All right… I can do this…" Finn mostly talks to himself as he takes them higher. "…shouldn't I be looking around for other… ships?" 

"Normally wise, but I think Poe would warn you right now," Kylo offers. He isn't a good backseat… uh… passenger. 

Poe laughs just a little. "Yes, you absolutely should. I didn't mention it because I know there's no other ships in the air right now, but this here," and he points, "is your main scope. It will show you anything close by. It reads transponder codes… identification signals… if other ships are broadcasting them. Friendlies show up green, hostiles in red. Anything it can't identify will be blue. And anything not another ship – asteroids, for example – in white. Though hopefully we won't run into any of those today."

"Okay. So… will it make noises at me if there's things too close, or do I just keep looking at it?" Finn asks, as he levels them out at the required altitude, hits the switch to deploy the wings, and then changes one set of engines for the other. Or… well. Turns on sublights and then realises he was supposed to do something with the thrusters, as well, and fiddles about. 

"That's it, that's it, bring the thrusters down to low power gradually, and the switchover will feel much smoother," Poe explains, watching Finn work. "And yes, if something comes in too close, your proximity alarms will go off. And that's when you know to react."

"All right… sounds like sense," Finn says, and he tweaks one of the levels, trying to reduce the light grumbling the ship makes. "So now… we move?" 

"Yes. Keep one hand here, to make sure the ship stays level, and the other here, to direct your flight accordingly. And… you're in a shuttle, not a fighter, which means that every movement you go through is a little… bigger." It's a hard thing to explain to someone who hasn't been flying for a long time. Once you have, it just comes naturally. "So… it's like you're telegraphing all your actions. Whether you're banking, rising, falling, it isn't instantaneous. It takes a little time to pick it up, but before long you'll just know."

"So… like… using a blaster-cannon, instead of a pistol?" Finn asks, hands working almost instinctually. It's clear he has reasonable spatial awareness, from how quickly he picks things up. He has to push a little harder than he first tries.

"Exactly. It's the same basic principle, but scaled-up." Poe watches Finn work some more, nodding approvingly. "That's it, yes, and… perfect. You pick this stuff up fast."

Then he looks back at Kylo. "Y'know, I could teach you as well, when Finn's done for the day. I'm very patient."

"I think I enjoy our relationship too much," Kylo replies. "You would likely break up with me and join a mercenary group in the Outer Rim before the end of the day." 

Finn tries a few more things, just getting a handle on the directional controls. He adds a little turn into a small climb in altitude, then brings it back down and centres it off again. 

When you're a starfighter pilot, you get very good at multi-tasking. Poe keeps his eyes on what Finn's doing, checking but not interfering, at the same time as talking to Kylo.

"I would not. Can you imagine me as a mercenary? It would be a disaster."

"You could fly _their_ ships. And they'd send you along on deals. Everyone would agree to whatever terms you asked for. You'd just have to smile at them," Kylo replies.

"He's right on that one," Finn agrees. "You do convince people to follow you."

"Force, if you left, half the Resistance would, too." 

Poe actually blushes a little. "I think you overestimate my importance. Maybe a couple of other people would. Most of them would just scowl disapprovingly until I came back."

Which he would, on account of his inability to stop helping people. Even if that does sometimes include blasting their mutual enemies out of the sky. And enjoying it. And… OK, Dameron, stop now.

"I think you underestimate just how much people love you," Kylo chides, very gently. "Although they probably would just follow you to bring you back. Like me, for instance." 

" _I don't doubt it_ ," Poe thinks, more than loud enough for Kylo to hear.

"Is that… thing there… something to worry about?" Finn asks, noticing a blip on the scope. "It isn't moving. Do I need to think about it?" 

"That's the southern radar tower," Poe explains, back in sensible pilot voice. "We're obviously much higher than it, but it broadcasts a signal upwards, to aid in triangulating your position, and the scope picks it up as a fixed point regardless of altitude. We use it when we're running manoeuvres, in the X-Wings. For now, how's about you aim in that direction and circle around it, before heading back the way we came?"

"You know that because you remember? How would someone who didn't know, know?" Finn asks, desperate to learn as much as he can. He starts to angle the ship as instructed, the movements becoming surer with each passing moment. 

"Good point," Poe concedes. "You can tell by watching its transponder code… see there, how it blips intermittently? That's how you know it's a fixed point… and then here, on the readouts, you can see it identified."

"Oh, right, I see it, now. I wasn't looking there…" Finn forgets to keep an eye on his hands, and the ship banks heavily, before he sits back up and rights them. "Sorry. I got distracted." 

"Don't apologise. You're picking this up pretty quick. It takes time before you can do it without thinking about every step, but that's how you learn. Your angle is good, your pitch just needs a little more… yes, that's it…"

Very promising. Very promising indeed.

Poe smiles, and watches as Finn flies them back towards the base.


	41. A Family Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, people! Today we bring you another chapter: in which the boys have an important invitation. A dinner invitation...
> 
> We think you'll enjoy this one! ;-)

Once they've landed, and run through the power-down sequence, they deploy the entry ramp and head back out into the cool afternoon sunshine.

No sooner have the three men stepped onto the duracrete than Rey comes hurrying over, eyes full of delight. "Were you flying that thing?" she says to Finn, gesturing to the shuttle.

"Yep. Under supervision, but all me," he says, eyes bright. "Not bad for a Stormtrooper, huh?"

"Not bad at all," Rey agrees, leaning in to kiss him, quick and impulsive.

Kylo smirks, and grabs Poe's waist, pulling him in to stand flush against his side. "Young love, huh?" he says, low and against his ear. "He's a quick learner."

"He is. And I'm a decent teacher." Poe looks sideways at Kylo, without breaking contact. "I meant what I said before. I can teach you too, if you want."

"You know it took me thirty years to manage to learn to use the Force properly, and I'm _good_ at that. Give me… give me at least another year to consider it, and maybe I will take you up on that offer." And then the Sith kisses his hair. "Besides, I can't be good at everything. It would make everyone else look bad." 

"All right," Poe concedes. "But, if you change your mind, the offer stands. Indefinitely."

"We… should give you two some space," Rey cuts in, softly, although – from how close she and Finn are standing right now – possibly they're not the only ones who need it.

Poe grins. "We'll see you later. You did good today, Finn."

"Thanks to you," Finn says, dashing off a sloppy salute and then nodding to Kylo, before taking Rey off to wherever they plan to go.

Kylo waits for them to leave before mentioning, in that too-casual voice: "We've had a dinner invitation, by the way." 

Which would be when Poe's mind hits a wall. "…A dinner invitation?" He looks, and sounds, and feels startled. Even though he really shouldn't, by this point.

"Yes. My mother extended one to us both. Tonight. Informal, she said, but…" Well, nothing is ever really informal in the Organa world, Kylo knows. "We can decline if you want to, but it… might… be good to go?" He says this as lightly as he can, clearly offering Poe a chance to run from it. 

"You're right," Poe agrees. Alarmed he may be, backing down he is not. "I'm… assuming you're OK with it?"

It certainly seems that way, which is quite an achievement, considering that – not so long ago – even the thought of a conversation with his mother had Kylo worried. And his mother is the _easier_ one to deal with.

"I… haven't. Had dinner with them. In many years." Which is short-hand for a lot more. "So perhaps it's time I did. And you… well. They will like you. You'll be able to keep them talking, if all else fails. If… you're okay with it?" Kylo bites his lip, and lets Poe feel just a sliver of his hesitation through the Force. "If I'm home, I should really act like I am." 

And not the last few years. Not when he was 'here', but not. When hiding in his room had felt like the safest option for all concerned. 

Poe grips Kylo's hand tight. "Anything for you," he says, with a smile. "Although… you say 'informal', but I still can't help wondering if I should go and press all the right creases into my dress uniform…"

It's possible he's freaking out, just a little. He hasn't exactly done 'meet the parents' all that much before, and certainly never with parents like _these_.

"Maybe not dress uniform, but I wouldn't go in wearing your flightsuit," Kylo says. "There won't be any pulling out of chairs for one another, but definitely nice clothes. And Threepio will most likely be…" and Kylo sounds resigned, "…presiding." 

"Oh… good," Poe manages, dryly, but he's still smiling as he steps in close. "But you'll be there. And that's all I need."

Well, that and maybe some Corellian brandy. Although… alcohol in that setting? Probably not a good mix.

"I'll send our response when we get back to our apartment," Kylo says, trying to sound like a serious, sensible, mature and grown up individual. "And I know it goes without saying, but I apologise in advance for my father. He is… well. You've met him." 

"Yeah," Poe replies, dryly. "That… did not go well at all. The first time we met, I…"

He hasn't told Kylo this part yet, and he wonders if he should.

"…may have threatened to hit him. Hard. In front of everyone." A beat, and a somewhat guilty flicker. "In my defence, I was upset. And he was… you know. Him."

"You… threatened to hit him?" Kylo asks, sounding utterly astounded, and possibly… no. Not supposed to sound pleased. Nope. "Why? What did he do, precisely, to make you break your cool?" Poe's never really been that violent, and Kylo knows it must have been something to make him react like that. 

Poe blushes. "He was rude to you, even though you weren't… there. And he wouldn't listen to reason. And… seriously, I wasn't right in the head that day. You don't threaten to punch out Han Solo. You just _don't_."

"Maybe not, but sometimes…" Sometimes Kylo has wanted to. And only the knowledge that a) it's wrong to strike your father (or anyone) and b) his Force abilities made it an unfair fight has kept him from doing it. "You were defending my honour…" He grabs Poe tighter by the waist, and squeezes with all his strength. Kisses his hair even harder.

"I love you. Even more, if it was at all possible. Although it might be wise not to do it _again_ … I almost wish I'd been there to see it." Pause. "And he probably respects you all the more because of it, you know. He's like that." 

"I won't do it again, don't worry," Poe says, quickly. Revelling in the contact, because it's so very good. "I only got away with it then because of the mitigating circumstances. And things _were_ better the next day, so he's _probably_ not still planning to bury me in the forest." A beat. "Probably."

"If he hated you, you'd know about it, believe me," Kylo reassures him. "And my mother wouldn't invite you to a dinner without giving him a lecture and a half on what to say or not to say. Which he will promptly ignore. But she _will_ have tried, all the same…" 

Poe gives a wry smile. "I'll try to remember that. And I promise to be on my _very_ best behaviour. I mean… you, me, Leia Organa, Han Solo and Chewbacca all around one table. What could possibly go wrong..?"

There is an awkward silence. "Anything my father tells you is a family tradition? It isn't." The sound of one very traumatised young person behind that statement. "Instead, get him to talk about… anything he's ever done. You'll be safer, that way." Definitely the voice of experience. 

"Now that, I can do," Poe replies, gripping Kylo's hand tight. "I grew up with stories of these people, remember? Even now… sometimes I still look at them like I did back then."

"Yeah, but you want him to tell you the _real_ ones. Not Bespin, not Tatooine. He'll tell you all about his days in the Rebellion, but you want him to tell you his _smuggler_ stories. It gets him involved, and it gets Mom exasperated, and then you're home free for the rest of the night…" 

Despite it all, Poe grins. "You just watch me…"

***

It isn't formal, but it's definitely a big affair. By the time they arrive, Threepio is trying to hold court and offers to take their jackets at least five times, wobbling up and down and only stopping when Kylo threatens bodily violence against him.

The table is set for the five of them, with Poe and Kylo together, Leia at the head, and Han and Chewie opposite the younger men. Han has, at least, shed his jacket, but that's his only concession to the evening. Chewie looks the same as he ever does.

Kylo, in a fit of bravado he's slightly regretting, is wearing a very deep, burgundy tunic and black, smart slacks underneath. Although the tunic is so dark that it's only a few shades away from black itself. He nurses the drink he's got, as they wait for the droid to bring through the first course.

"Where the hell even is your dad?" Han asks the pilot, by way of an opening gambit. "Haven't spoken to him in… well." A bounce of his head from left to right. "Twelve years, maybe?" 

"Still living on Yavin 4," Poe answers. He's opted for khaki and black again, though on some level he still feels like his dress uniform would have been more appropriate. "At the place he and my mother built after the war, just out from the Massassi settlement. He lives a pretty quiet life, now, but he's… content."

'Happy' might be pushing it a little. The current state of the galaxy still weighs heavy on Kes Dameron's mind, and his only son knows it.

"…are you going to introduce me to him, at some point?" Kylo asks. And then realises he's never even thought to mention Poe's family before. He knows about his mother, but he… well. He just… has been so caught up in his own warped family tree that the thought of Poe having relatives is alien and strange.

"I'd like to," Poe tells him. "I… haven't spoken to my father in weeks. Maker… _months_. It isn't exactly easy when I can't broadcast a comm signal from the base, so as not to give us away. The last _long_ conversation we had was just after I left the Republic Navy, and he… well. I think that much, he definitely approved of."

Poe is not yet sure what his dad is going to make of Kylo. But… he's sure it will work out.

Kylo looks a little sad, then. He'd run from his family, but Poe… Poe didn't. They both ran to war, but for different reasons. And after all this lost time…

"You still haven't told me how you found my ship, you know," Han cuts in. Either sensing the mood, or because he just wants to.

Chewie declares that Rey did, but Han tuts at him in rejoinder. "I wanna hear his version. Make sure they corroborate." 

"Rey sort of found it first," Poe says, really wishing he could speak Wookiee. "Although she didn't know which ship it was to start out with. From what Rey said – and from the looks of things at the time – the _Falcon_ had been on Jakku for years. We needed to make a run for it, and we couldn't get back to our own ship, so… we decided to borrow a different one."

His whole expression lights up. "I nearly fell over backwards when I realised it was the _Millennium Falcon_. She was a _joy_ to fly."

This is not even him trying to be ingratiating. This is just Poe Dameron enthusing about spaceships.

Kylo catches his mother's eye over the table. They don't need a Force Bond to communicate their thoughts on this development, not at all. 

"Yeah, well… you didn't see her at her best. That idiot on Jakku did terrible things to my girl," Han replies, but he's swelling with pride all the same. "Should see her when we're really done with her. My girl will make your knees go weak."

Chewie's comment is borderline rude. Han ignores it. 

This makes Leia roll her eyes a little, albeit lovingly. "Anyone would think there were _three_ people in this relationship," she remarks, with a grin.

"But… it's the _Millennium Falcon_!" Poe can't help saying, as if this excuses it.

"And surely Uncle Chewie makes four," Kylo mutters, into his glass.

"I'm not deaf, you know!" Han barks.

"That was, indeed, never your weakness." The Sith smiles very slightly. "You could hear even the slightest _thought_ out of line for several years, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, sounded like breathing to me."

"Generals, Masters," Threepio cuts in, mercifully. "May I present to you the entrees?" 

Kylo puts his glass down a little too firmly. "Please do."

Poe reaches out under the table and puts a hand on Kylo's knee. Mostly just for the contact, but also to reassure his lover, and remind him that he's here.

" _Thank you_ , Threepio," Leia says, with a pointed look at her husband.

"What?" Han asks. "It's true. Damn kid found nearly every hole in the _Falcon_. Used to go missing for hours, thinking it was funny. Pretty sure he found things faster than I did, and I'm a smuggler." Han huffs, and leans back to allow food to be placed in front of him. "And then he'd get in the wires."

"…I was trying to fix her."

"She weren't broke!"

"…I thought she was."

Chewie roars.

"It don't count as broke if it's on purpose," Han snarks right back.

"…I bet you thought it wouldn't be like this," Leia says to Poe. She still has a twinkle in her eye, even though at the same time she looks ready to smack her husband about the head. "I'm guessing you envisaged meaningful reminiscences of adventures gone by, culminating in some dramatic re-telling of the glory days of the Rebellion…"

"…Actually, this is pretty much _exactly_ what I expected," Poe replies, before he can stop himself.

"I knew I liked you," Leia remarks, with a nod of the head. "It's the main reason I absconded with you in the first place."

"Well, that pilot's mine," Kylo says, and hooks his ankle around Poe's, under the table. "You've got your own, Mother. It's bad enough you'll send him on dangerous missions…"

"Wait… is she even… you know." Han makes a gesture with a tilt of his head. "…you… pitch and yaw, or?"

"Dad!" Kylo is horrified.

"What?"

"You can't ask my fiancé that!"

"I'll ask you, too."

Kylo wants the ground to swallow him up. He steals his plate from the droid with the Force, grabbing handfuls and shoving them right into his mouth.

"…Maker, this is actually happening…" Poe murmurs, going several interesting colours and not meeting anyone's eyes for a moment. Deep breath. Just do it. "No," he answers. "Just men. I worked _that_ one out early."

Leia kicks Han under the table. Just lightly, but enough that he'll notice, and then gives Poe a look that is probably supposed to be apologetic.

"I was just asking!" Han says. "I didn't even know my son was into guys before you turned up."

"Neither did he," Kylo says, with a roll of his eyes. "Can we please talk about intergalactic politics, instead of what… instead of that?" He's comfort-eating, now, putting too much in at once. 

"Kylo… your father is just being curious," Leia insists, in full galactic-diplomat voice. Though, from the look she now gives Han, he needs to be curious in a more socially-acceptable way. "You didn't just come home, you came home with a fiancé, and that's significant to us. Because we're your family, and we love you."

"…couldn't you ask me things that don't involve my sexual preferences, over dinner?" Kylo complains, slightly surly. "Like about my new-found religious beliefs? Or my deep and systematic knowledge of the enemy's inner workings? It's obvious I'm happy with Poe. More than happy. I don't need to--"

Han hisses, just a little, until Kylo stops. "I'm just trying to catch up on lost time."

"…I love Poe, and only Poe, and whatever I might have potentially felt for people who aren't Poe, gender and species notwithstanding… Poe is the only love I'll ever love," Kylo says. "Happy, now? Or do I need to outline a--"

Chewie congratulates them, very loudly. And then asks something about the Sith.

"…still working out the finer details of how I implement this, but I think my control over Force-lightning says all you need to know about me still having Dark Side abilities, despite my… shifted loyalties," Kylo replies, with a thankful nod. 

By this point, Poe is back to being all the colours under the sun. He tries to think of something sensible to say, but his mind is drawing a blank, and he looks at Leia with the eyes of a man who would very much like to be rescued, please and thank you.

Possibly by being posted elsewhere. Like Hoth.

"So you really can… balance the two?" Leia asks Kylo, obliging Poe's silent request for help whilst at the same time bringing up what must surely be a very significant question in her mind right now.

Kylo nods. "I have always been… I have always retained the ability to use what is traditionally called the Light Side. I never lost that. But I… did lose control, whilst using the Dark. But Eigengrau helped me find a sense of… ah, moderation? If I feel I am wavering too far one way, I pull towards the other, to find some… balance."

"Isn't Dark just… Dark?" Han asks.

"Is love evil?" Kylo asks in return.

"Well, no, but what you do because of it, can be." 

"You could say the same thing for justice, or for peace," Kylo replies.

"But… if you could do both, why would the Jedi and the – you know – Sith – why would they fight for so long? Why wouldn't anyone think of this sooner?" 

"For one: because it's not easy to balance them. It's… tempting, to give over to emotion alone. And because it's an easy way to access power, quickly. And for two: because I suspect they were afraid. And they would rather have others be afraid and hold back, than risk the loss of more who couldn't keep themselves close to the middle." Kylo looks a little sad, then. 

"…and someone did think of this sooner: Revan. But the Council wouldn't listen, and so she trained her Sith and left her temple."

"Huh." Han picks up some bread, and breaks it. "And you two met… how?" Han waves bread at Poe, clearly not finished with his own line of questioning. 

The thing with Han Solo is that, one of his childhood heroes or not, the man gets Poe's back up somewhat. He tries not to give in to it, and he _knows_ Han is having an understandably difficult time, given everything that's happened of late.

But still. He does. It's part of why their first meeting went the way it did.

It's also part of why Poe answers Han's question without thinking. Or… not so much without thinking as without _editing_.

"Oh, Kylo took me prisoner, on Jakku. He wanted the map fragment I'd been sent to retrieve. Luckily said map had a decoy failsafe built into it, which led to us being stranded together on Eigengrau. Where… we proceeded to yell at each other until we realised we wanted to do the other thing instead."

And… oh dear, that was out loud, wasn't it? The only saving grace is the part where Poe has neglected to include the line 'and he tortured me for information for quite a while'.

"…sounds like me and you, huh, Princess?" Han says with a wink to Leia.

Kylo sends a very quick " _Kill me now_ …" down the connection he has with Poe. And looks pleadingly at his mother to save them. 

"Oh, Han, sweetie," Leia starts out, with a positively _wicked_ look in her eyes. "I never took you prisoner. I merely borrowed you and your ship. Indefinitely."

Though it's clear she knows exactly what Han _actually_ meant.

"…I'm adopted," Kylo says, and tries to stand up. 

Han kicks him. "I saw you cry yourself into this galaxy, kid."

"…I'm a changeling," Kylo continues, as his ankle is pushed from under him, making him land back down on his ass.

Chewie says there's no way Kylo is anything _but_ Han and Leia's kid.

Poe puts a hand on Kylo's knee again, once he can do it back under the table where no one will see. " _Easy_ ," he thinks, in a soothing mental tone, along their bond. " _I'm beginning to think they're as bad as we are_."

Although… OK, no, don't think that about General Organa. Ever.

Leia, for her part, does not look sufficiently apologetic.

"So what's our plan for that bastard, anyway?" Han asks, apparently satisfied now that the relationship is a solid one, if they're fighting. 

"Kill him."

"I got that far."

"…that's the only plan," Kylo admits. "Well, the only one I'm aware of."

"Oh for… Leia. Tell me we got something I can blow up?" 

"Not yet, no," Leia answers, in her more sensible tone. "When we locate the _Decimator_ again, it will _definitely_ fall into that category. For now… we have to bide our time. Prepare. Make sure we're ready for the moment, when it comes."

"There's something we need to do first," Poe points out. "Akiva. We need to take it back."

Kylo nods. "We do. I… owe it to those people to save and free them. And I also want to try to contact my Knights. From… somewhere off-world. I've been discussing it a little with Poe, and I… owe it to them to attempt to save any of them I can."

"…best doing that on the fly," Han says, thoughtfully. "Could do it on the _Falcon_. But how we gonna get Akiva back? Wasn't that one of the Imperial ones?" 

"To begin with," Poe answers. "But after the revolution, after they threw out the Empire, they joined the Republic. They've been one of ours ever since, at least until… until the First Order moved on them."

He doesn't feel the need to go into more detail. Han was there when Snap and Jess came back from Akiva with the reports of what happened. And… Poe really doesn't want to remind Kylo of it any more than he has to.

"It… was… as bloodless as I could manage," Kylo says, very quietly. "I wasn't able to do much, but…"

"You know, Vader worked on me and your mom. Blew up Alderaan. Didn't even ask me anything, just wanted to get Luke to show up." Han watches, head cocked, eyes on his son. "And I don't care what anyone says: there's a point when you just want it _over_. And he barely had hours with me…"

Kylo looks back up at him. "I tried."

"I know, kiddo. Shoulda seen it years ago. Guess I didn't like the thought of this being any way something my fault. But you probably saved more people than you know."

"Not enough." Kylo wants to run away, and he grabs for Poe's hand under the table. "It's why I have to be there, when we retake Akiva. For them. Not for me." 

Poe is already reaching for him, and their fingers lock tight. "You'll be there," he says. "And so will I. And we _will_ take Akiva back. For them, _and_ for you."

"Moving on the planet will require significant resources," Leia points out. "We will need to come up with a clear, decisive plan of attack, to ensure we can make it work. Most likely both aerial and ground assaults."

"Snoke will likely send one of the Knights, in case I go," Kylo says. "So I should most certainly be there, because – a Force-sensitive can do a lot of damage if they're not countered or nullified." Like him. 

"We need to do recon work?" Han asks. "My baby's still the fastest damn ship around." 

"Recon, definitely," Poe agrees. "We need to know precisely what ships and resources the First Order has stationed in that system, so we know what we're up against. Although… if I'm sending a recon sortie to Akiva, Snap Wexley has to be part of it. He _is_ our best recon flier. Plus I won't hear the end of it if I don't."

And I know what it's like to need closure.

"I can give you dossiers on the Knights, and a general overview of the Order's fleet," Kylo says. "Their current practices, policies and stations… no. Snoke didn't trust me enough to leave me completely free to access their information," Kylo says. "Without the Starkiller, they lack any massive weapon to terrorise, and it's sheer force of manpower and blasters pointed at the right heads. They have Star Destroyers, but the real threat right now is the trooper units; Captain Phasma's specialty."

Kylo pauses again. "Has Finn spoken to you yet?" he asks his mother. 

"We've talked a little," Leia answers, "but I'm conscious of needing to spend more time with him. The intel he can provide could be pivotal."

And… with the tiniest hesitation, she adds, "You too, Kylo. You've been inside their operation."

Poe instantly grabs Kylo's hand under the table again.

Kylo nods. "Yes. And I can give you a lot of information. But we… also discussed the potential for… a campaign for hearts and minds. Most of the First Order troopers were snatched from their families at a young age, and… conditioned into their ways of thinking. We _do_ need to stop the mechanism – the force – behind that, but… I believe Finn could also provide a key role in spreading a counter-message. From someone they can connect with, someone who… knows…" 

The Sith holds Poe's hand, and whispers an: " _It's okay. I'm okay._ " 

"You think something like that could work?" Leia looks thoughtful. "It would be more than worth our time if so. A chance to hit back at the First Order _and_ save lives." She smiles.

"I'm sure it can," Poe concurs, still holding Kylo's hand under the table, but less crushingly now. "Finn was wavering enough to risk breaking me out, and it stands to reason that others might be at least close to feeling the same."

"Even if they don't turn straight off, if we lay that seed of doubt in their heads… when we do defeat Snoke, it will be easier for them to swap sides. Or when we get closer, and it's clear we really do pose the risk the Order wishes we don't." The Sith pushes food with his fork, not entirely feeling like eating now.

"You reckon we'd even get the message through to them?" Han asks. "Don't they keep them all crazy locked off the holonet?"

Kylo nods. "Yes. But they will _visit_ planets. And those who find materials that could give them options – if they hear, see, read things – they take those ideas back with them. They are so heavily regimented that it can be their downfall, too. A disease can rip through a whole platoon… so why not an idea?" 

"…did the Rebellion ever do that?" Han asks. "And if not, why not?" 

"We ran propaganda campaigns," Leia says. "We kept the spin positive wherever possible, but we never fully went after the hearts and minds of the Empire's ground-level troops. At least, not until after the Battle of Endor."

A slightly distant look, heavy with memory. "Maybe we should have done. But… we can certainly try it now."

"They still ran heavily with recruits, then," Kylo reminds his father. "Who would be harder to win back over. But these… these are… children. Who have never known family, or freedom. The Order tests them for compliance, and pushes them further under with every…"

This is a little too much, and his voice wavers, attention suddenly focussed on the dinner table instead of anyone in particular. His head sort of hits a brick wall inside, and everything just… stops.

Poe immediately leans in closer, putting a hand on Kylo's arm, not hiding it now. "It's all right," he says, softly. "It's all right. You're safe. And we will find a way to help them too. We have _never_ been better-placed to take on the First Order than we are right now. The Starkiller is gone. And we have you."

"Poe's right," Leia chips in, gently. "The tides really have turned in our favour, and it's a chance we must seize whilst we can. And we _will_."

Kylo's just struggling through a sudden, dark mess. Not _Dark_ , but it's like he's gotten too close to something. Like his eyes looked at too-bright a light and they flinched shut in response. He's not sure. He just knows he's there one minute, and the next… everything is distant. Nothing seems to really connect, even their words.

He blinks, and tries to remember what he felt like, before. Tries to find a thread of emotion, to pull himself out of this empty hole. "It just… sometimes…" Kylo's tongue sneaks out over his lips. "I remember. And I remember too much, at once… and then it's…" 

How could he ever explain? "…it's not important. It… will pass." 

Heart suddenly hammering with worry, Poe turns and pulls Kylo in close, finding his hand again and not letting go. "I'm here," he whispers. "I'm here. Stay here with me…"

And then, over their bond, " _It's OK. It's OK. It's OK_."

He wants to say more – a lot more – but now is not the time.

"I'm not about to go murder anyone," Kylo says, quietly. "I just… would you excuse me for a moment?" He slides his chair back from the table and goes into the kitchen, fully expecting Poe will follow.

Cold water. He needs cold water. He turns the tap on and cups his hands under the stream, pulling it up to splash over his face. It stings, but distantly, and he wonders if he needs ice, or heat? Something. 

"Give us a minute," Poe says, rather hurriedly, to Leia, Han and Chewie, and then – without waiting for a response – he gets up and goes after Kylo.

"Hey," he says, softly, going right up to the man and stepping in behind him. Poe may be rather shorter than Kylo, but he can still wrap arms around his waist and press against his back. "It's OK. I'm here. I'm here, Kylo."

"I know," Kylo says, his voice still eerily flat. "I… just… I remembered things. And…" A hand goes to Poe's, and he feels the heat under it, against his torso. Feels it, and tries to open his mind a little more. "…I used to… have to push things down to manage. Push them down, or lash out against something or someone. It's… automatic, I think." 

Kylo pulls him in closer against his back, and shudders. "…it's okay. It just… I normally… it's not happened in public before. Not without my mask, anyway." 

"I know," Poe tells him. "I know." He presses in tighter, trying to keep his own voice level as he speaks. Trying to be the strong one. "And you don't have to be afraid of what you're feeling. You just have to let me help you through it. I know it won't happen overnight, but… I'm here, Kylo. And I'm not going anywhere else."

"…I…" Kylo taps his hands, and then – when he moves enough – turns around and drops his head on Poe's shoulder. He has to stoop a little to reach, but it's worth it. "…sorry. I suppose it's better than me cutting the dinner table in half in a rage?" Which he'd wanted to do as a small child, more than once. "…I'll be okay. It just… took me by surprise, is all." 

Poe pulls him in tight again, hand on the back of his neck, stroking gently. "You don't have to apologise. I'm here for you. I will _always_ be here for you. And… please resist the urge to cut the dinner table in half. The food is good, and I think your parents might be alarmed."

"I may need to cut _something_ in half, before long. Perhaps we should invest in some big logs for me to work out my rage on, if it gets that bad?" He's mostly joking. "Calm me down enough that I can do something… ah… more… delicate with you?" Hands around his waist, holding him close and sure. "Although I seem to remember you liked it when I got angry…?" 

Oh, they should not be flirting like this with _Leia Organa and Han Solo_ in the next room. They really shouldn't. But… if it helps, if it's _therapeutic_ …

"…You know I _love_ it when you do," Poe reminds him. "That's why I fell for you in the first place, remember? The _strength of your will_ …"

"My will, or my sabre-arm?" Kylo jokes, and nuzzles softly at Poe's neck; little, chaste kisses and a tighter grip on him. "Because I am still as passionate as _any_ Sith." Pause. "…which… now that I think of it… I'm fairly sure Darth Revan was watching us get… ah… closer." And now he winces a little, and then laughs into his ear.

"I think she approved of you as much as of me. Is that the closest you've come to a woman in bed, then?" 

Poe is suddenly very glad of the chance to hide himself in Kylo's embrace, thereby concealing the colours he is turning. "…The long-dead Sith was _watching_ us..? And… I…" Deep breath. Try not to flail. "Yes, it is the closest I've come! I like guys! Ideally one who is strong and powerful and can fuck me out of my mind!"

…and if anyone else overheard _that_ line, Poe is sending himself to Hoth. Tonight. Forever.

"…so… you'd take her pilot over her?" Kylo's teasing now, and he cups a hand under Poe's jaw, tilting his face up for a kiss. Slow, slow and lingering. A push of his tongue inside, past his lips, and a bite on the way back from said kiss. 

"I promise I'll remind you why you picked me, when I get you home, Poe. And if they weren't expecting us to go back and play nice…" He nips a quick line down the side of his throat, pushing an image of Poe, on the counter-top, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks him to screaming raw. " _We haven't done it on a table, yet. We've got one at home…_ " 

"You are absolutely _wicked_ ," Poe murmurs – at least he manages to keep his voice down this time – as he shivers at the thought. At the _images_. "And you better make good on your promises when I get you back to our room tonight. Because I need you _badly_."

Though, how he's supposed to look the man's parents in the eye again in the interim, Poe isn't at all sure.

Kylo lifts from his throat, and then slides his hands from Poe's waist down to his ass. Cups him, and grinds him against him for a moment, and then steps lightly back. "Do you want to see how fast we can get my father drunk on Corellian brandy?" he suggests. "Ask him about the Kessel Run, and put the bottle in front of him, and it will be gone before he's counting up the parsecs. If you get him drunk enough, my mother will send us both home so she can shout at him in peace." 

"…You realise I want them to like me?" Poe points out. Though this does not, of course, mean 'no'. And… he _really_ wants to know how Han Solo made the Kessel Run in _twelve parsecs_. And…

"…Find me a bottle. And you have to promise to apologise to General Organa for me if this goes wrong."

"I'm her son, and you're her top pilot. We'll always win over her _husband_ ," Kylo says, and lifts a hand to summon a bottle to them. "And he will like you. Trust me. Nothing he likes more than telling tall tales…" 

Another kiss, and Kylo drags Poe back in by the hand.


	42. Submission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, we have something of a treat for you today. When it comes to smut in this fic, we've brought you many different things. Happy smut, angsty smut, angry smut, tree smut. And whilst there's nearly always been a BDSM element to it, we haven't - yet - done any full-on 'classic' BDSM smut.
> 
> Allow us to change that. And a very, _very_ happy Saturday to you all...  >;-)

Kylo has heard the Kessel Run story more times than most people have heard their own name, he's sure, but watching Poe goad Han on with a mixture of actual interest and 'how fast can we push this to a close so we can get home' has made it infinitely more interesting. 

And maybe it was needed. Getting Han drunk. Even Poe had a few glasses, though Kylo had only the one. He wasn't sure quite how he'd react with alcohol in his system, and he needs to be alert for what comes next.

(Which will preferably be Poe, then Poe again, and maybe… okay he should likely let the man recover for a few hours before round three, right?)

Back to their rooms with only marginal misbehaviour, his hand slung into the back pocket of Poe's pants and guiding him along like that, Kylo keeps his lips on Poe's upper ear as they walk up to the doorway. "Better than you expected?" he asks, with a flicker of his tongue to punctuate his question. 

Right now, Poe is buzzed enough to be more than a little reckless, but not to the point where he'll suffer in the morning. Or, not from the alcohol, at least.

"…Well General O–… Le–… your mother hugged me at the end," he answers, leaning into the contact with _very_ obvious approval. "And… your father seems not to want to bury me in the woods. So… I'm taking that as a good sign."

They get to the door, and Poe leans back on it, pulling Kylo in _really_ close. "Plus I got to be with you. And you know I love that _most_ of all."

Kylo pulls his hands free, only so he can drop them to either side of Poe's head, making his height advantage clear and boxing his lover in against the door. He runs his nose against Poe's cheek, humming in low contentment. "I told you they'd like you. But now I've got you all to myself… whatever should I do with you?" he asks, and then uses the Force to open the door behind him, so Poe falls backwards and Kylo drops on top of him.

"…oops." 

Poe's eyes go wide and dark, and if the fall hurts, it doesn't show. He stares up at the other man, his heart racing – but in a good way – and all but breathes his answer over his lover's lips.

" _Anything you want_."

"Anything is a dangerous thing to offer a Sith," Kylo points out, from where he's moved to straddle Poe's waist, the door sliding shut again behind them both. He starts to walk up over him, on his knees, settling high on his chest and rubbing his crotch against Poe's face. 

"Why don't you start off by showing me how much you'd rather I let you eat something else instead of the finest in Republic cuisine?" He curls a hand under Poe's head, and shoves his face right into his groin. 

The pilot does not need telling twice. He pushes enthusiastically into the contact, mouthing over the front of Kylo's pants, whilst simultaneously sliding his hands up – given that they aren't pinned – to cup his lover's ass. Just to touch him, of course. Not out of misbehaviour.

Well, not much.

And… his blood is already burning. With need, with hope, with… the dark little things that lurk at the back of his mind.

Both hands knot in Poe's hair, and Kylo grinds himself over his pilot's mouth, trying for more friction, growling in low pleasure. "I'm going to choke you on my cock, pilot. Going to make your eyes sting from it. How hard do you think I'm going to fuck you, before I finally let you come?" 

Because Kylo isn't in the slightest intoxicated. And he very much wants to let out some of his… tension. "Get me good and ready for you." 

It is not easy in this position. Not easy at all, although this doesn't seem to hold Poe back. Given that he still has his hands, he manages to get the front of Kylo's pants open with his fingertips – and his teeth, because why not? – and work his cock out, and…

…arch up, even at this angle, and all but swallow him down. Poe Dameron does not do half measures. He holds the position for as long as he dares, then pulls back with a breathy, already half-wrecked gasp. And then… he looks up, finding Kylo's eyes for just a second before taking his cock deep again, starting to suck hard and fast.

Poe is so beautiful when he's aroused. More beautiful than he is normally, which is also very. Kylo still can't believe he's captured such a gorgeous specimen for himself, and that he's as beautiful inside as he is outside. He's waxing poetic in his head even as Poe's lips and throat work around his cock. 

The Sith arches up, holding more gently onto his head, feeling him work of his own accord and running a mental hand between his lover's legs. A sure, warm pressure there, a promise of things to come. He starts to ride his face, fucking into his mouth, trying not to choke him unpleasantly, just… nicely. "Good… you feel so good… you want me to make it hurt, tonight? You need me to rip you apart, and put you back together again? You want to know you can still take all I can do to you?" 

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps out, pulling back just long enough to answer, and catch his breath. "Please, I…"

Sometimes actions speak louder than words. Or less complicatedly than words. Or… something. Either way, Poe opts to let that sentence fade and leans in to keep working over Kylo's cock, giving him all he's got. Needing to show that he means what he's said.

 _Anything_.

Kylo slams Poe's head down so far that his nose hits his stomach, and keeps him in place until his body struggles, then keeps him there a little longer for good measure. "When I get up, you're going to strip. Everything. And you're going to go to the bedroom. And you're going to find the box I put under the bed. And then you're going to bring it to me, and kneel, and hold it out for me to show you what I got for you. Do you understand me?" 

_Fuck_.

Poe's mind goes _black_ , and not from hypoxia. He's full-on _trembling_ as he nods – unable to speak like this – the whole world trying to slip sideways, yet being constantly yanked back by the weight of the other man's command.

" _I understand_ ," he thinks, over their bond, when his mind is coherent enough to form the words. " _I understand, Master_."

The Sith drags Poe off him, and then stands up. Still fully dressed, but with a spit-slick cock rising proudly from his pants. "Go. Fast. I've been waiting to show you what I've got." 

Somehow Poe manages to stagger upright all at once. He doesn't quite dare meet Kylo's eyes, now, stripping quickly and efficiently and then doing as he's been told, going into the bedroom and over to Kylo's side of the bed.

And… finding the box under it. It's a decently-sized footlocker – larger than Poe was expecting – and weighty without being cumbersome. He slides it out and picks it up, carrying it through to the other room, to where Kylo is waiting for him.

Deep breath. He drops to his knees close by, bowing his head and holding the box out.

Kylo smiles. "Put it at my feet, and open it. We're going to go through the things I have so far, and then we're going to pick what we use tonight…" He sounds a little excited, even though he tries to repress it.

He didn't requisition things straight off, but… he's been picking things up when he can. Waiting for the time to be right to pull them out, not wanting to spook either of them too soon. 

Poe already knows this is going the way he thinks it's going, but somehow Kylo's words make it seem so very much more _real_. He nods, still not quite trusting himself to speak, setting the box down and opening it, and…

…OK, how in the Force has the man managed to do _this much_ in a day and a half? It's slightly terrifying. And _all_ kinds of awesome. And… one step above asking Kylo how he did it is the impulse to never ask anything of the kind, because some of this looks like he might have needed… help to acquire.

Which is why Poe doesn't ask.

The box itself contains a mix of things. At least half of them are restraints of some kind: red rope, chains, padlocks, some form of wrist and ankle restraints – _really_ best not to ask – as well as a blindfold and what looks like a _collar_ … and then the rest of the items are… implements. Some kind of paddle, and a very sturdy-looking hairbrush, and a long, thin metal rod, and… the final object, which is a whip… no, no, a _flogger_ – that's what they're called – and there is surely no way Kylo got hold of **that** without asking someone on base for it.

And… the world goes a little black again. But in a mind-blowingly good way.

"Well, my Apprentice, is there anything you'd like to ask for, first?" Kylo asks, smiling widely because Poe seems to appreciate his efforts. And also because he likes the idea of Poe having to ask him. Nicely. For something. Before he can't ask for anything at all. 

_Ask?_ Poe is not sure how you ask for something like _this_. Yes, he and Kylo have more than dabbled in this sort of thing before – that delicious night involving the tree on Eigengrau being the prime example – but… somehow it feels more _real_ like this. And… because it sparks off half-forgotten fantasies at the back of his mind; fantasies that make so much more sense now that his life has turned down this particular path.

The pilot looks down. And… contemplates. Not that any of the thoughts in his mind are _coherent_ , but nevertheless. It's still contemplation, of a sort.

Then… he looks up. "…The rope," he answers, softly. And strangely surely. "Please. _Master_."

The logic behind this is simple: he happens to like being restrained. That much, he is wholly certain of. So… it's a good place to start.

Ah, good choice. Kylo has also looked into what you can _do_ with rope. In some detail. When alone. So he reaches out a hand into the air, and lifts Poe as if he weighs nothing. Lifts him, and holds him an inch or two above the floor. "Very well. I'll make good use of it," he says.

He doesn't need to keep the gesture up to keep Poe held in place, instead going for the rope. He picks up the collar, too, because what he has in mind will need it. He holds out the leather and buckles it firmly around Poe's throat, before looping the central section of the rope through the ring at the front, and knotting it so two equal strands fall from it.

"You remember the thing to say, although – I will know before you ever need to say it," Kylo says, reminding him that this has a way out, if it's needed. But only if it's needed. He starts to tie knots going down the front of his chest, all the way to just above his cock. The rope parts around him, and Kylo ties the next one so it sits snugly behind his balls. Not tight enough to act as a cockring, but tight enough to chafe and press. 

Being lifted up like that still feels strange to Poe. It isn't unpleasant, and certainly not unwelcome, but… yes. It is strange. Even knowing the extent of Kylo's abilities, being held this way – without a hand on him – will always be a little mind-blowing.

Poe doesn't exactly have long to muse on it, though, as this is when Kylo suddenly closes in on him, buckling that collar around his neck, and everything goes hazy again, because Poe has read enough to know the significance of Kylo doing _that_ to him.

The need suddenly _burns_ , like he's gone from Hoth to Jakku in an instant.

"…I remember," he answers. "I remember, Master, I promise."

"I'm going to make you submit to me utterly," Kylo says, though he knows Poe does it regardless, no matter their situation. It's still good to say it to him, to help him go deeper with every passing moment. "I'm going to tie you so tightly you can do nothing but take what I give to you. I'm going to wrap you up as a gift to myself, and one I won't unwrap for hours…"

He slides a hand over the knot behind his balls, making sure it sits right on that spot that makes Poe's legs shake, and then loops the rope around his thighs, before knotting them around the back of his legs, and pulling taut lines up and over his back and shoulders. He makes shoulder-straps, and then over the other side he crosses the ropes over his chest: left shoulder to right-string, and vice versa. That done, he pulls the cords _tight_ and around to Poe's back. It yanks the pattern over his chest from parallel lines into an open diamond between his throat and just above his nipples, and he knots this off across his shoulderblades. Down, and knots behind, and then repeats the pattern at the front: this one from level to his nipples to just above his navel. A third, this one around his waist.

"Does that feel secure?" he asks, knowing the answer but wanting to hear his voice. 

Secure? The rope on Eigengrau felt secure. The fabric strips during that one glorious night on D'Qar felt secure. This… feels infinitely more so. Like lines of ownership, crisscrossing Poe's skin; constant reminders of who he belongs to. Of the one whose whim he breathes at.

Poe's mind is going under _fast_. He usually tries to resist it at least a little, not out of devilment but simply because he knows Kylo likes to work for his victories. But right now… there's nothing short of immediate, life-threatening disaster that could snap Poe out of the haze he's sinking down into.

"Yes, Master," he answers, softly.

"You look so very beautiful," Kylo says, and gently kisses at his shoulder, near where the rope cuts in. Never too deep to cut off circulation, but enough to feel firm and sure. He strokes his hands over his handiwork, admiring the lie… and then between, to the warm skin that yields subtly to the lattice-work making his frame hold steady. "So very beautiful. I'm not done with you, yet…"

Kylo moves to stand behind him, and then places Poe down on his feet. He makes sure he has him supported with the Force, in case he stumbles. He can't part his legs any wider because of the rope. but he has a little leeway. The Sith gently guides Poe's arms behind his back, and touches his wrists together. "Hold still," he says, and then so very slowly laces the remainder of the rope down, binding both limbs all the way to his wrists. He ties them surely off, and then slips the tail ends of each side into Poe's hands to give him something to hold onto. 

" _Oh fuck_ ," Poe gasps, quietly, trying not to make a sound but unable to hold the words in. He sounds more than a little scared, but it's the good kind of scared. The _very_ good kind.

He keeps his head bowed as much as possible, his mind slowly slipping further and further down. It's questionable as to whether he'd even be able to stand, without Kylo supporting him like that, and even then he still seems to be swaying slightly.

And the need in his mind is so strong right now that it must look like a supernova in the Force.

"I told you, Pilot. You are mine. All of you is mine. And all of you is precious, to me." Kylo kisses his other shoulder, and then puts a hand on each hip. Just… holding him. Getting him used to the sensations, the restraint of it. "You are safe with me, and I _will_ hurt you. I _will_ use you. I _will_ abuse you. And you? Will **love** every last _minute of it_."

Kylo grabs Poe by the back of the head, and _slams_ him, face-first, onto the table. Kicks at his legs, spreading them as wide as the rope will allow, grabbing the rope where it knots above his ass and pulling it so he has to lift his hips and offer up his ass for attention. 

There's _no_ way Poe can keep quiet at _that_. He all but yelps out loud, the rapid shift in position – coupled with the way he already feels – meaning that he suddenly has no idea which way is up. He struggles a little, though only on instinct, and as soon as his mind has caught up with what's happening, he tries to lean into the tugging on that rope, arching up the way Kylo wants him.

" _Please_ ," he gasps. "Oh fuck… Master… Master… **yes**."

Kylo forces Poe's hands up – as high as the ropes will allow – knowing it will put pressure and strain on his shoulders and wrists. He has to be careful not to over-do it, especially with those joints, but he can tell when things are too much, or close. 

And then he drops to one knee, and shoves his nose in the crease between his cheeks. "Well, Pilot, do you think you deserve a little pleasure, first? Before the pain?" He rubs carefully, teasing, knowing it will tug on the knot behind his balls. The one he placed strategically, so any pressure would stimulate Poe's prostate from the outside. "Should I open you up with just my tongue?" 

" _Yes_ ," Poe manages, the word coming so quickly that there's no gap between Kylo speaking and the pilot's response. "Please. Please. I need you, Master. _Anything_."

His skin feels hypersensitive now; every inch of him burning to be touched. And… then there's those words of Kylo's. 'Before the pain'. Poe doesn't know for sure what the other man plans to do to him… but he has a pretty good idea. He saw what was in that box. And… the mere thought of it is more than he can process.

Kylo continues to tug at the ropes, agitating between his legs, and then he uses his other hand to push open Poe's buttocks. He licks over the back of his balls, and then a firm, firm swipe in the dark crack between his legs. Over and over, with more pressure each time. Poe tastes wonderful, and Kylo purrs slightly in pleasure before he starts to draw circles around his entrance. Round and around and around.

"What was it you wanted, before? 'Strong, powerful, fuck you out of your mind'?" Another lick, and then he smirks. "I can do that without even using my cock." Like when he pushes his tongue in as far as it will go, and starts to ride Poe's ass with it, with all the energy he has. 

…That sounds accurate enough. Like something Poe knows he would say. Certainly something he would mean. It's what he loves, and he's not ashamed of that. Although he is, right now, starting to understand the depth of what he's asked for.

And he knows this is just the start.

" _Yes_ ," he cries out, in confirmation, agreement, approval, desperation. "Yes, yes, likethatlikethatlikethat… _fuckdon'tstop_ , please don't stop…"

Both hands go to the other's hips, and Kylo holds him in place as he takes his ass over and over. Licks him all the way as far inside as he can, and spears and flattens his tongue, making swirling gestures all the way in and out like a corkscrew. Teases at his entrance, and then uses the Force to scratch finger-like lines down over Poe's body, under the ropes, and then a sensation of _tightness_ as he binds his cock like he's bound his arms, but just using the Force instead of any physical restraint.

Poe is so perfect, Kylo thinks, as he holds a hand out and catches the flogger in it. It's clean (he cleaned everything twice before this), and the handle is barely the width of two fingers. So when he pulls up with his tongue, and rubs the pommel against his hole, it's clear Poe's going to get more than he bargained for before the night is up.

It's just a good job that they're so far away from civilisation again, really. 

Given the position he's in, Poe can't exactly see what's going on. So, when he feels something that isn't part of his lover's anatomy pressing against him _there_ , his already-hazy mind whites out again. The sound he makes is part-gasp, part-whimper and part-plea, but it certainly isn't a word in any discernible language.

After a few moments, he tries for coherence once more, but there's still nothing. Only further desperate, needy murmurs that go on for longer this time, slipping his lips and escaping into the world.

Again. He has to try again. He has to get a word out, somehow, somehow…

"… _Pleaseyes_."

OK, two words, merged into one. But his meaning is more than clear.

Kylo also kept lube in the chest, for obvious reasons. He pulls some out, and then sits back. Coats the toy's smooth, unblemished metal hilt… and with one hand on the small of his back (under his bound wrists), he slides it slowly in and out of his lover's hole. Watching it vanish, and pull out, still sticky. Over and over, he angles it slightly to widen him, and then pushes it in as far as it will go. It's actually longer in the handle than his cock is, so he gets it deeper inside, until Poe's body won't accept any more. 

"Do you like that, love?" he asks, sounding… rapt. "I'll fuck that hole later. But for now… do you like that inside of you?" He seems to. And Kylo definitely is getting off on this. 

"Y-yes," Poe stammers out, his voice utterly wrecked. "Yes… Master… please oh please oh… _fuckyes… yes_."

The very intense physical stimulation is the only thing holding his mind in the present moment right now; everything else dragging him further and further towards some deep, mental abyss. He knows the place, and he's been there before, but at the same time it's something _more_ : something dialled up beyond the maximum, like the kick right before a ship slips into hyperspace.

And the stimulation itself isn't quite like anything he's experienced; existing as more than something designed to cause physical pleasure for Kylo, simultaneously all focused on Poe, and all just making _use_ of him. And that… is more than Poe's mind can process fully.

"Good boy," Kylo praises, and he reaches up to stroke a hand through his hair, very gently. "You're so good for me. I'm going to make you scream for me, Poe. I'm going to show you why you submit to me…"

He leaves the toy inside, and then fetches one of the other things: the paddle. It's firm leather, and it's never been used. He had to make quite a few of the things himself, today. He's always been good with his hands, and once he shooed out the engineers from the workbench he wanted, he'd been able to recreate this – and the flogger – from memory. Ropes and chains and blindfolds and things were easier to get hold of. These… well. These were something else. 

Kylo comes back to stand behind him, and uses the Force to lift Poe's hands back up high. It gives him a little room to work with, and he starts to slowly use the handle inside of him, fucking him with diligence… and then starting light swats with the paddle, to one cheek. Building up to a sting, and then slowing and easing back down again. He isn't sure quite how far Poe will enjoy pain – not like this – and so he's happy to edge him slowly closer to too much. And hopefully stop just before. "How does that feel, Pilot?" A slap, and then a tilt of the toy, just grazing against his prostate, but only for a second. 

_'How does that feel?'_ , here in this moment, may be the most difficult question Kylo Ren has asked Poe Dameron to date. And that's taking the _full_ spectrum of questions into consideration. Even _before_ they were fun. The reason for this is strangely simple: you can fantasise about this kind of thing all you like – and Poe did, to some extent, without realising what it is he really wanted. You can imagine it and contemplate it and try to come up with some idea as to what it would be like, what it _will_ be like, when your lover finally does it to you.

And _then_ you're tied up and held firm and he _does_ do it to you. And it's different from everything that's come before, even though they both speak to the same longing in Poe Dameron's heart. It's different and it's familiar and it's alien and it's impossible to reconcile all the varied feelings because there are too many, and they're too conflicting, and all of them are, at the same time, inescapably true.

How does it feel? It hurts. It's bliss. It's terrifying. It's wonderful. It makes the world make sense. It can't be explained. He fears it. He wants it. He loves it. And the need it sparks at his core will never, ever go away.

" _ **Incredible**_ ," Poe breathes. Which is completely, utterly honest. And still not even close to emphatic enough.

Kylo leans, and kisses his temple, even as he keeps that twirl of metal inside his body at all times. He kisses up to the edge of his hairline. "Stay with me," he murmurs, and drags sharp and fast across his mind, then pulls all the way back. "Stay with me…"

As he stands back, and starts a flurry of whacks to one side, then the other. Building in intensity as he goes, letting the paddle stay in place to push the sting deeper for a few seconds each time. He builds it up until he can sense Poe's body feels pain, though he has to glide against his consciousness to know if it's filtering through to his mind. "Stay with me. Stay here. Let me do this for you." 

Poe can't pull his mind back, not when it's already gone as far as it has. The best he can manage is to try the mental equivalent of digging his heels in, simply to stop himself sliding further under. But, even then, it is not easy.

"I'm here," he gasps, even though he'd be hard-pressed to say where here even _is_ , right now. "I'm here… Master… Master… please more… please…"

How much more could he take? Here, in a place he knows he's safe, with Kylo, who he knows he trusts completely, and in the knowledge that Kylo would never do lasting damage. How much _could_ he take?

The toy is pulled out, and laid gently to one side. The better to reach his upper thighs and cheeks. Kylo grabs the rope between Poe's wrists – the action intended to ground him a little more – and he drags the paddle through the slightly slick crease… before he turns it and cracks down slap after slap; staying to one side, then moving, then alternating, then back to impacting in one place over and over. He keeps his mind in Poe's, keeps his presence known, so he can feel things as soon as they happen, so he can keep him from leaving entirely.

"Harder?" he asks, and then smacks him so hard the pilot and the table rock from it. "More?" And he does three more, just as hard, in quick succession. "Do you want it to _hurt_?" 

Does he?

The thing about pain is that it exists in two places simultaneously. It exists in the body, and it exists in the mind. Both have their limits, but the limits do not have to correlate, and they certainly don't in Poe's head right now.

He _wants_. He wants so much, so hard, that he couldn't articulate it even if he was capable of long, reasoned, coherent sentences. He wants… to be pushed until he breaks. So he can _feel_ himself come back together afterwards. So he _knows_ it's real.

But those are dangerous thoughts to have.

" _Yes_ ," he chokes out, his whole body reeling from what he's taken so far; from the near-blinding, white-hot agony burning through him. "Yes. Please. Please."

"For you," Kylo says, "…anything." He tugs so Poe's shoulders burn, and he kicks his legs as wide as the rope will allow. And then he starts to paddle him in earnest, swatting at the tops of his thighs (so sitting will sting tomorrow), over the thickest part of his ass, and then he says: "Count to ten for me."

Ten. Ten blows, at the fullest extent of his strength. He swings back wide, and when the leather slaps into place the vibration travels all the way up his arm. One – shift; two – shift. He holds the paddle against his ass with the last smack. Waits to see how Poe will react. 

And Poe _howls_ in pain, like he's just been hit very, very hard, in a place that is already sensitive and sore from a great deal of attention. Because he has. For a moment he can't _see_ , can't breathe, and then the oxygen jolts back into his lungs all at once, and, dizzy, he remembers the order.

"One," he cries, as clearly as he can. "T-two." He bites his lip hard enough to hurt, murmuring a soft litany over and over. " _Pleasepleasepleaseplease…_ "

Kylo doesn't smile, because it… not because he doesn't enjoy it, but because it means something. Something serious, that he doesn't quite know how to vocalise, or express, just… understand. He knows Poe needs this, and he'd happily do anything Poe wanted. It isn't even about a natural sadism, or an inclination to hurt. It isn't, with Poe. It isn't a desire to cause pain. It's a desire to cause _happiness_ , contentment, **bliss**. A desire to give the man what he craves, to satisfy him to the depths of his being.

And it's so very strange. Not because of wanting to please him, but because the pain element is merely an adjunct, just a thread in a wider tapestry. It isn't anger or pettiness that lifts his hand, but a knowledge that this is _essential_ , **right**. He lands two more blows, and the pause before the next two is much shorter. 

"Keep going," he says, low and encouraging. "You're almost there, Poe. Almost there." 

"Three," and "Four," follow easily. " _Five_ ," is little more than a rough whisper, Poe's whole body shaking from the pain, and it's several seconds before he can articulate the "Six," his mind barely able to parse the word.

And there certainly aren't words for what the pain _feels like_. It hurts so much, he can't think. So much, he wants to beg for it to stop. To offer Kylo _anything_ in return for mercy. But, at the same time… he needs it more than oxygen. More than is sensible. More than he can process.

He isn't doing lasting damage, Kylo knows. He knows, and he wouldn't. It's merely a sensation too sharp for the mind to really handle properly, a spark of heat that it wants to flinch away from. It's fascinating to watch the interplay within his lover, to see him so urgently want something his body thinks it doesn't. Or does. Both. Both at once, Light and Dark. Kylo's presence in Poe's mind turns protective and caring, a reassuring blanket, a brush of hand through hair, a grip of palm to palm. He sends through love and echoes it with his tongue, telling him how good he is, how close, how soon it will be over. How _adored_ he is, how safe. Over and over, with the next two slaps happening somewhere in the middle. 

There's a hesitation before "Seven," not so much from the pain as because Poe isn't wholly sure how numbers work anymore, and he has to concentrate to work out where he's up to. "Eight," follows quickly after, a hint of desperation slipping into his tone. An awareness that he can't take much more, and a fear that he won't make it to the end, and then a realisation that he doesn't have a choice.

Instinct makes him tense up more, trying to steel himself for it, even though common sense would tell him that this is so much easier if you relax. And it is. But doing that is not easy at all.

"Poe," Kylo says, his voice insistent, but nothing but calm. Commanding and sure. "You can do this. I know you can. And when it's done, it's over. When it's done, I'll make you see stars. I know you can do this. I know you can." 

He pushes the urgency into his head, and then slaps him again. Nine. Again. Ten. And holds. And holds. And then drops the paddle, drops to one knee beside the table, and pulls Poe's head to the side to kiss him fervently, praise swelling like a crescendo along their connection. 

"Nine," and " _Ten_ ," are choked out quickly, the latter almost a whisper, but a firm one nonetheless. Not out of defiance – Force, no – but instead out of… pride? Accomplishment? Determination, certainly. Determination, and that soul-deep desire to please his master. To please, and to obey.

And then it's over, and Kylo is kissing him, and the whole world goes sideways, and Poe's mind is _flying_ ; unbound, weightless, breathless, free. The rush of emotion lifts him higher, making him feel incredible all over again, and he's smiling as the kiss breaks, obviously, gloriously _gone_.

Kylo strokes Poe's face with one hand, and meets his eyes. Poe looks so happy, and he's a blaze of confusing, glorious emotion in the Force. Even someone unbound to him would be able to see he's pleased, see he's… elated. Kylo's heart clenches tight, a sense of pride in his own ability to do this, to give his lover this. To… remind him that what they do is glorious. A Dark-Light, not a darkness. "You are so beautiful when you smile," he says, and gently lies his head back down on the table. "So very strong, my Pilot. So very, very strong."

He arches forwards, and pushes their foreheads together. "I would like to make love to you, now. I would like to fill you with another kind of bliss. Are you ready for me? Can you take it?" He could – of course – do it anyway. He doesn't even need to ask. But that isn't the point, and he wants Poe to realise and voice his readiness, not just insist. Wants him to _consent_ with every shred of himself. 

" _Yes_ ," Poe whispers, from somewhere part-way between here and the stars. "Yes… please… please… anything… I love you… I need you… I'll do anything…"

His body is just a tangle of feeling; the low ache of recent pain, the tight grip of the ropes. The heat in his skin, whenever Kylo so much as touches him.

And… he's craving again, but on a completely different level. This isn't the rough, desperate, plead-beg-must-have kind of craving. This is just… _need_ , in its purest form, bright and hot and full of desire but without the pushing. Just… ready. For this, for Kylo. Wanting so much that denial really would break him.

"Of course," Kylo says, and kisses the corner of his smile. "I love you," he tells him, and rises slowly. He's still fully dressed, but he sees to that with quick hands and the Force. The tunic goes flying, the pants, boots, socks, briefs. All tossed aside, so he can stand behind his beloved. His hands stroke over his flanks, over the ropes and where the ropes end. Poe's already open and ready, even if the toy was a little narrow. He holds the tip of his cock in place, pushing just the flare of it inside him.

And then he hardly waits before he grabs hold of the ropes for purchase, and rocks in to the root, so his balls slap Poe, as he rides in, in where he belongs. His body opens for him, and Kylo feels so, so damn good. "Poe," he says, just his name. All he can bring himself to say, as he starts to make love to him. It isn't the harsh, mad, frantic fucking… no. He wants to go slower, though it's no less burning a need, no less glorious as he does it. "Oh Poe, my heart…" He would give him _everything_. He would. He knows, as he slides in with care, as he fills his body like he does his mind. He doesn't even think _he_ will last long, but he knows he can, if he **makes sure** he does. 

" _Kylo_ ," Poe breathes in reply. Not sure if he should still only be calling the other man 'Master' but… needing not to, right here and right now. Not because he wouldn't mean it, but because his name is so very important. So very important and so very resonant with meaning  
of its own.

He can't do much in this position, so he just tries to keep himself relaxed, to concentrate on taking whatever Kylo chooses to give him. And… he tries to reach out along their bond, letting his feelings spill forth. Letting Kylo see just how incredible – _incredible_ – Poe feels right now, because of him. All because of him.

"You're mine," Kylo tells him, voice low and resonant. "All mine. Only mine. All of you… and all of me… I have no secrets left to tell you…" None. He knows them all. "You've seen my past, and you _are_ my future. I love you so much…" 

He clasps Poe's hand with one of his own, curled around it, and he continues that heady, steady thrusting. Takes him, chasing the pleasures he can feel Poe offering to him, using it to guide his movements, to nudge him closer and closer to bliss. "This could never be wrong. We could never be wrong. You are _safe_ with me." All he's ever offered, all he's ever wanted: to give him a place he would be protected, where he would be unharmed, and loved. Kylo knows he won't be able to stop all hurts, but he also knows he'll break himself in two before he ever allows real harm to befall his pilot.

He knows, now, that his love for the man can even break Snoke. And Snoke will regret the day he ever threatened violence on his beloved. If Kylo wasn't ready to kill him before, he's ready to _annihilate_ him now. 

"Can you feel it?" Kylo asks, as he winds his own, burning lust and love around him, lets the lines of it spark out, almost visible. In a way. Like a shimmer through the air, a glow that isn't real. "That's us." Coiled in together, weaving in and out and around them. Kylo lifts an arm, and the _after-image_ chases his limb, before coming back down when he holds his hand again. 

"I feel it," Poe murmurs in reply. He's so far removed from the words, now, but he still means them with everything that he is. "I feel it. I love you. I need you. I'm yours, always, always…"

And he's so close. So close to release. So close to the last push off the edge of the continental shelf, and into the ceaseless black of the deep ocean. But, despite it all, despite the constant, ever-building waves of pleasure, he doesn't feel desperation. Need, yes, and wanting, and hoping, and craving, but not desperation. Like he could wait forever, on that precarious cusp, if it was what Kylo wanted.

"Please," he whispers. Asking. Just asking. "Please… I need… I…"

"Soon," Kylo promises, and he grabs hold of the ropes. Pulls and steps backwards, and it doesn't matter that Poe's legs won't hold him up. The harness spreads his weight so when Kylo uses it he can take his whole weight in that one hand around the taut rope. When he's lifted, he takes hold of the front of the harness instead. He uses his other to find Poe's cock, and curls around to give him something further.

And then he lifts and lowers him, using gravity to help him, his hand on his cock squeezing and milking and oh, it's so good, so very good. "…come for me, love. Come for me." Still using him, that steady pace that's almost their heartbeat, already in synch. 

The second the words slip Kylo's lips, completion bursts through Poe like a supernova, and he hovers on the edge of bliss for an instant before he's immediately coming so hard, he can hardly process it. He cries out, the sound incoherent but full of pleasure and gratitude and love, fading to nothing as his lungs run out of oxygen, long before the climax finally starts to abate.

When it does, he goes completely limp in the ropes, slipping further and further out of his mind. Murmuring under his breath, over and over, the words almost nonsensical but heartfelt all the same.

Kylo's climax hits somewhere in the middle of Poe's. Almost not even sensible of it happening, too lost in the mess – glorious and warm and dark – of Poe's own orgasm. Kylo just keeps using him until the shudder in his loins is almost uncomfortable… and then he walks the few (oh so agonising) steps to the couch, and places Poe down face-first. Face-first, with Kylo spooned up behind and on top. He kisses his neck, and he starts to unravel the rope knot by knot, using the Force. Unbinds him slowly, allowing his body to come down by degrees.

"You've done so well," he says, low and approving. "So very well. Just relax, now. Just relax. I've got you. I'm here. You're safe. You're loved. My beautiful, beautiful Pilot…" 

Poe collapses against the couch, aware that it's soft, and cool, and that Kylo is on top of him, and he just drifts. His mind is long gone, but he's still aware of a morass of sensation, and all of it is so very, _very_ good.

He tries to say something, tries to tell Kylo he loves him back, that he feels amazing, that _all_ the pain is just _gone_ , for the first time in weeks, but the only thing he can manage is a low murmur of sounds that aren't even close to words, never mind coherent ones. They're obviously happy sounds, though.

Kylo smiles, and runs lightly through Poe's mind. Enough to let him know he's there, but to keep him in that blissful, sated, warm place for as long as he can. "Just relax, Poe. I promise I've got you."

He's just so perfect like this, when he lets go fully. Kylo knows how precious it is, how much he offers when he goes all the way down. He'd worried, of course, about using restraints when Poe was still recovering from… that. When they both were. But feeling him this calm under him… oh. It was worth the risk. 

He curls around him completely, and lets his breathing echo his lover's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and _exhale_. ;-)
> 
> We hope you enjoyed this one. And, remember, if you're going to try some ropework of your own out in the real world, always do your research first, and always keep a decent pair of scissors close to hand, for quick release. Keep it safe, people! (Incidentally, if you're planning on doing this a lot, you might want to invest in a pair of bandage scissors which are even safer and deserve to be part of the special box under _your_ bed...)
> 
> Lastly, Davechicken would like to remind everyone that she is having a Kindle sale on her books. Go to [DCBastien.com](http://www.dcbastien.com) for more info!


	43. The Knights Of The Holo-Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, all! We have another big chapter for you today, both literally and in terms of the plot. We hope you enjoy!
> 
> We also have an announcement: we're going to be scaling back our update schedule for the next couple of weeks. Rest assured, this is _not_ due to any problems with the plot, but simply due to the fact that - due to recent illness - our output has been somewhat reduced and - in our efforts to maintain our posting schedule - we ate up our usual chapter buffer a little too fast! So, for at least the next couple of weeks, we'll be posting on **Wednesday** and **Saturday** , whilst we work on re-building our buffer.
> 
> We stress again: this is not due to any problems with the plot (which is progressing just fine!) and we will be going back to our every-other-day schedule as soon as we can. We promise to keep you all posted!
> 
> For now, let us return you to that big chapter we promised...

Han, Poe, and Kylo sit in the cockpit of the _Falcon_ , with BB-8 rocking back and forth around the footwell. Chewie is in the back, working on something Han mentioned. Kylo strongly suspects it's just a ploy to get his Wookiee uncle out of the way. Which is weird, because Han is normally so joined at the hip with his best friend that it's hard to imagine them doing anything apart. 

They're hurtling towards somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, ready to use the freighter as the first step in a relay chain of forwarded holonet signals, so Kylo can contact his Knights. Although the _Falcon_ is so well known they won't stay hidden for long, even with the proxies, Han insisted his ship being the fastest countered any other risk.

And when Leia Organa agrees with a plan, you pretty much pay attention. Especially if it is Han Solo's plan.

Han's eyes slide over to Poe, and when he sees he's got his attention, he cocks his head just _slightly_ in a _now scram_ way. But politely. As politely as Han Solo is able to. 

Just getting to co-pilot this wonderful ship – even only briefly – is a joy, and Poe seems a little taken aback when Han looks at him like that. But… then _his_ eyes slide to Kylo, and he understands.

Or, hopes he does.

"I should… go check on Chewie," Poe says. "See how he's getting on with the… thing."

Which is really not subtle at all. Poe decides the best thing to do is just get up and head off before he makes it any weirder.

Sometimes, it's for the best.

"You know," Kylo says, before Poe is really out of ear-shot, "…you could just ask people for things. Often they'll even do what you ask them to do."

"Yeah, well, he did, didn't he? I still asked."

"There's such a thing as saying 'please'," Kylo replies, with a slight shake of his head. He stands up from his seat, and goes to sit in the co-pilot's chair, without being asked. It feels strange to sit there, even without the intention of helping out. Now they're in hyperspace, he isn't really needed, but it still brings back memories…

"So. Someone told me you flew a TIE."

Kylo winces. "I believe 'crashed with minimal damage' is more accurate."

"Yeah, but you _did_ fly it. Take off. Piloting. Landing…"

"I killed the engines and used the Force and the snow to stop it."

"…you really don't like being complimented, do you? I thought maybe you'd've grown out of that, by now." 

Kylo… pauses. He wonders what it says about himself that his first reaction is to get both defensive and self-critical. It's probably very deeply telling, and that's an uncomfortable truth to face. So he looks out at the blur of white on black, and nods. "I did. I managed not to explode it. Or die in the wreckage. Without any training." All positive points, but points he wouldn't have thought to say in his favour. It's almost Poe's voice, in his head, when he thinks these things. 

"Kinda wish I'd been there to see it. Sounds like the kind of damn-crazy stunt we used to pull all the time."

That makes the Sith smile, very slightly. "With a little more flair than me, though we did blow up an entire _planet_ , so that must count for something."

No matter what else happens, what else goes wrong… no matter if he does defeat Snoke or not, like Luke said he would… Kylo knows he managed that one thing. He got the Starkiller destroyed, and he saved Poe, and that has to count for something in the grand scheme of things. He hasn't got a running tally of how many lives he's taken, but with the capability to wipe out entire solar systems' worth of inhabited planets gone… it must come something like close.

"Yeah, okay, don't get too big for your boots." Han says it with that overly-airy way he has, and slides some things around on the console again. "Fight's not over yet."

"It never is, though, is it?" Empire. Order. It's just one thing after another. When they kill Snoke… what then? Kylo hopes they can pull over enough of the troopers, enough of the men and women, to make the fight a skirmish instead of an all out war, but he knows the Darkness – the **evil** will still be waiting for the next heart that's open to it. "We'll just keep fighting."

Han bites at his lip, and Kylo can sense the anxious anticipation. They haven't really been alone together, save for a few moments here and there. Either Leia, Poe or Chewie have been in the room when they have. Not from a conscious decision, just by choice. 

Kylo wonders if volunteering the _Falcon_ maybe served a double-duty.

"You know… you can just talk to me?" he offers, holding out the olive branch. "I know it's been a long time, but… we can either act like nothing happened, or we can act like it's all broken, or we can… try to just… work out how we move on from here?"

"You were a _kid_ Ben. Kylo. I… damnit. It's hard to stop calling you that. It was easy when you were just evil, because I could think of Ben as dead, and Kylo as this monster who killed him. Now… now…"

"Now you have to acknowledge the fact that your son _is_ Kylo. Is the monster. I was Ben, but I am still your son, father. And I was a monster. I did do those awful things. I did kill people – lots of people. I destroyed what my uncle built up. I'm never going to deny those actions, but I think you understand, now, that I… was perhaps… coerced into them."

"Coerced? Your boyfriend told me that bastard was in your head from the get go."

Eyes lowered, Kylo shrugs. "He was. And he put pressure on me. But the fact remains, I concealed most of it, out of shame. I wanted to be the boy – the son – you, mother, Luke would be proud of. I didn't want you to realise how much of a mess I truly was."

"Why?" The word is agonised, and Kylo hates how it makes him feel.

"Because I thought that hearing it – and the things it told me – I thought it meant I was… bad. Broken. Wrong. I thought that a strong and good person wouldn't feel tempted by anger, or fear, or love. And when I did say anything… no one could keep him out of my head. I wanted so badly for it all to go away, but it didn't. And the longer it didn't go away, the more I was…" 

Kylo runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. "I was too young to know any better. And I didn't want to upset you any more than I already had. I knew my… abilities left you uncomfortable."

"So, what? You thought by not telling me, you were protecting me?"

It sounds stupid, aloud, and he nods. 

"Ben, _why_?"

He keeps using that name. Kylo winces, but he thinks maybe Han needs to hear it from the person he still knew back then, so he decides he can cope with it for a short period. He was Ben, when he made those choices, after all.

"You couldn't stop a voice inside of my head, Dad. You couldn't even teach me how to stay out of your own. You were afraid of me. With reason, I might add. But you were afraid of me, and if I told you about something you couldn't protect me from… it would have hurt you, worse. I was already a monumental disappointment to you, I couldn't let you feel the same way to me."

Han grabs his arm, and Kylo suffers through the reaction inside. He knows Han needs this. He's known all along. 

"I was your _father_. You weren't supposed to protect me. You were supposed to let me worry about _you_."

"I know. I know. I screwed up," Kylo says, and puts his hand on Han's. "I was foolish. I was weak. I wanted to be strong and smart and brave and good enough to be worthy of you all. I was ashamed. I was afraid."

The hand goes up to the back of his head, and Kylo lets Han pull him in. Press their foreheads together, and just… breathe for a moment. "I should never have run out on you, or your mom. When you… when you pulled away, I didn't know what to do. I didn't… I didn't know how to protect you, or to bring you back. You just pulled deeper into yourself, and I figured it was because I was a terrible father, and maybe you'd be better without me. Then – then you--"

Then Kylo Ren, he thinks. "I know."

"And I just – I wanted you to be him, not Ben. Because then I could write it all off as the Dark was there, and I couldn't have kept it out. Because if I didn't--"

"Then you'd have to admit you'd fucked up," Kylo finishes for him. "And running – leaving people behind – was easier, and hurt less." He's not just talking about Han, here, and it's obvious. "I don't blame you, Dad."

"Well, you should."

"Perhaps. But I don't. There was a catastrophic chain of events. Some deliberate, conscious, planned. Some unplanned, reactive, panicked. It was no one thing that caused this, unless you mean Snoke. And we can be upset about this for years, or…" He sits back, and his head turns in the direction of Poe. "…or we can try to move on. Try to stop it happening again. Try… to learn."

Han clears his throat, sits back. "He's a good kid, your pilot."

Kylo smiles. "He's more than good. He's… wonderful." He feels a little self-conscious saying it, but it's true. 

"Yeah, and he really loves you. Gotta, to face down that bastard for you. Or put up with your relatives."

"…he tells me he… threatened physical violence on you?"

Han snorts. "Probably. It got a bit… heated when I first got there. I was still convinced you were, you know, evil. And he didn't care who he yelled at, he wasn't going to let anyone say a bad thing about you."

"He feels guilty about that."

"Why? I need yelling at, some times. Especially when it comes to schmoopy feelings things. You know I don't do them very well."

"I think he's beginning to learn that," Kylo replies, diplomatically. 

"Well, you tell him if he wants a seat at our table, he's gonna have to yell if the situation warrants it. But I reckon he's worked that out, too."

Kylo could say many things about his family: 'functional' and 'calm' are not either of the words he would pick first. "He dragged me back, kicking and screaming. Made me face up to the fact that it… that everything people kept telling me… that the reason I felt so torn was because none of it was really right. Not for me, anyway."

"This weird, middle-way thing?"

"I'm not calm and serene. That's probably as much the Solo as the Vader in me. But that doesn't mean I'm _bad_. If I didn't have the Force, I'd likely have never left the Republic and the Resistance behind. I'd have been just like anyone else."

"Hokey religions," Han mumbles. "Why I didn't really want you being a Jedi. I mean, yeah, Luke's okay… but you gotta wonder what made Vader snap like that."

"Mother and Uncle," Kylo reminds him. "And his own voice. But if he'd not felt the need to hide who he was… maybe he'd have been able to find this path much sooner."

The ship flies on for a while, as they think about it. 

"You know… I could do without the murder-years… hell, the whole galaxy could… " 

Kylo wonders what's about to come.

"…but I think you – I **know** you're as much a hero as any of us. Maybe more. I just had the streets and some bum deals in my pocket. Your mom had political standing. Luke worked on a damned _moisture farm_ , for crying out loud. You…"

"Had you all as role models, and a home that was as safe as you could make it."

"And the rest of the crap. You had it rough, kiddo. And you still blew up a planet, because it was the right thing to-- it was the right thing, wasn't it?"

Kylo snorts. "Yes, it was."

"So… yeah." A slanted smile. "Chewie's proud of you."

Chewie is easily pleased, Kylo thinks. But he knows enough to know that 'Chewie' in this case isn't the only one proud. 

"Thanks, Dad."

"You… gonna at least take us out of hyperspace when we arrive?"

"…if I must. But if we explode--"

"No one will hear us scream. Yep."

"I meant, you stop asking, but while we're at it you can stop putting images of bloody murder into my head."

"…not that butto… yeah. Okay. And…" 

Kylo is never going to learn this under his father. Ever. The man has more rules than Hux did. Why can't he teach like Poe could to Finn? He sighs and kicks out the main engine, letting the onboard computer do the rest.

***

"Well… we'll see how many of them answer my summons," Kylo says, standing in front of the holo-receiver, waiting. It's almost time for the call to begin, the one he sent out a few hours ago. There's six emitters, ready to project images of the other Knights, waiting for it to start.

Han and Chewie are in the cockpit, on hand to make their sharp getaway once it's over, or if anyone finds their broadcast location. Kylo adjusts his sleeves for about the fifteenth time in the last five minutes. 

"You ready for this?" Poe asks him, carefully, putting a gentle hand on his lover's arm and trying to get him to relax. If nothing else, it gives him somewhere to channel his own nervous tension.

He knows precisely why Kylo is doing this. He agrees with it, too. But… he knows it likely won't be a pleasant, or easy experience. And it's still less than a week since he got Kylo away from Snoke.

But… he can do this. They both can.

"No, but they need me to be," Kylo says, honestly. "I don't know if I'd ever really be ready for it, but I'm ready enough to _try_." He places a hand on Poe's face, thumb grazing his cheekbone. "Are you sure you want to be in the room? It will likely become very rapidly unpleasant. They have been under Snoke's command for almost as long as – or even longer than – me." 

Poe meets his eyes at once, full of determination. "It's the only place I want to be. I wouldn't leave you to face this alone. Not for the whole galaxy. I won't say anything, won't interfere, but… I'll be here."

"All right. But if it becomes too much, I want you to leave. It's… it's my fault that some of them are in this position. I… I never told you about them, did I? I mean, who they are?" 

"No," Poe answers. "You didn't. And I didn't ask. I figured… you'd tell me when you were ready."

"Very well. If… they all join this conference, they will come in this order." Kylo turns to the rightmost spot. "Fayed, Jolek, then Meryth. Those three were Knights before I joined Snoke's Order. They are… very close. If they are not in love, then they are in something very like it. They are career-orientated. And, I suspect, they resented me for being an upstart."

Kylo nods to the fourth spot. "Tovim. He joined later. He… I was never convinced of his loyalty, to anything but himself. Very talented, but even more reckless than me. I have never liked him."

The last two. "Daria, and Danika. They… are twins. They were Jedi Padawans, when… when I fell. They are Force-bound. They were called Asha and Ava, before. I… brought them with me, Poe." He clearly is torn up by this, and he looks very sadly at the place they will soon appear. "Where one goes, the other follows." 

Poe listens to all this, trying to take in names, details… and then Kylo goes and says _that_ , and the pilot goes pale. "There were… there were other survivors of…" Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Kylo… I had no idea."

"We didn't exactly make it public knowledge," Kylo says. "We wanted to cut ties with our past. If it hadn't been for my grandfather, or the insult to my uncle and my parents, my past would likely have been completely stripped from me. It's… probably what happened to them. I don't know how much he's been interfering with their minds, but we never… we never discussed _before_. Even my old name was forbidden. No one in the Order would ever use it." 

"I… I see," Poe manages, with a shuddery little breath, and he grips Kylo's arm again. "You're doing the right thing," he says. "Giving them this chance. I know it won't be easy, but… if you could be pulled back, maybe some of them can be, too."

"I have to hope that he's done less damage to them. If I'm honest with you, I think Fayed, Jolek and Meryth might be a lost cause. I'll still try, but they were Dark before I was even sleeping without a nightlight. If there's Light in them, I've never seen it. Tovim… I would not trust as far as I could Force-throw him. Or maybe as far as _you_ could. But the twins…" Kylo looks up to the ceiling, for some kind of reassurance.

"All we can do is offer them the choice. And I am sure none would take it, today. But the more I chip into their convictions, or spread doubt, or hope… I lose absolutely nothing at all by trying." 

"You're right," Poe agrees. "These things don't happen overnight. But… they have to start somewhere. And if anyone can do this… it's you."

He pulls Kylo in and kisses him quickly. "I'll be here. All the way through. I'm not going anywhere."

"What would I do without you?" Kylo asks, with a soft smile. He kisses him back, and then pulls him in for a tight hug, before turning back to the holo-receiver. "The countdown is starting. We'll see who shows up."

The six blue, flickering projections all kick in at once. Three men, three women. Although, from their clothing, it's difficult to know that. All are in black, with various designs of mask and robes. They vary from the stocky, to the slender, and there's several quiet noises of surprise when they see their absent Master in such informal clothing.

"Kylo, what's with the face?" asks the man who should be Tovim, if the arrangement of places still holds.

"You've seen it before," he replies. "This is who I am."

"You mean you've betrayed us," Danika snaps. "You've run away from the power of the Darkness."

"No, I've embraced it. But I've also embraced the Light," the Sith replies, turning slightly to face her. "I am no longer a Dark Jedi, or one of the Knights of Ren. I am a Master. A **Sith Lord**. I am a Sith of Eigengrau."

"You're a damn coward, is what you are!" 

"Danika, please…" 

"No, Daria. He doesn't get to run away again. What's wrong with you? Don't have the guts to do what's needed?"

"I do. The path I am walking is infinitely harder than the one Snoke would have you walk. He keeps your training from completion. You _know_ that. You know he wouldn't even allow me to complete mine. Meryth, how long have you, Fayed and Jolek, been with him?"

"Our training is sufficient," Meryth insists.

"Do you really think it is _complete_?"

"And using the Light, and joining the Resistance, will do that?" Fayed pushes.

"Joining _me_ , in the place where Light and Dark are equal, will," Kylo replies.

"You're weakening yourself!" Danika's voice grows shrill with anger. "You are a pathetic coward. You weren't strong enough as a Lightsider, and now you failed as a Darksider."

Kylo grabs his sabre from his belt, and twirls it to hold before his face. Just the hilt, unlit. "Do any of you know whose this was?"

Tovim nods. "Vader's."

" _Darth_ Vader, Sith Lord," Kylo expands. "And now it is mine: Darth Kylo's."

Jolek snorts."That doesn't mean anything!"

"Then how about this?" And by this, Kylo means the sudden crackle of lightning he calls up with his free hand, and when he ignites his blade, he lets it dance up and down the focussed blade.

Tovim leans forwards. "That a trick, or real?"

"Of course it's a trick," Danika snarls. "He's never had that."

"Not before, not with Snoke. But with Darth Revan, and Darth Vader, yes."

"They're both dead!"

"And so will you be if you stay with Snoke for much longer!" Kylo snaps. He switches his weapon off, and re-absorbs his sparks. "He must have told you to attend this call to help him look for me, and I understand that. But I am coming for him, and anyone who stands in my way will be a casualty of my war."

"So you want us all to join you because you found a sabre, some sparks, and the Light? Kylo. You were supposed to be Snoke's favourite. What broke you so badly?" A shake of her head, Meryth clearly not understanding. 

"Snoke manipulated me – and likely all of you – since childhood." Kylo wants to pace, but the receiver isn't mobile, so he hooks his sabre back to his belt, and scrunches his toes in his boots. "I always had the Light, as well as the Dark. And… you have been mis-sold. You do not need to pick. You can be both, if you wish. You can use the Dark, and do what's right. Or – at least – avoid what is wrong."

"Where would the fun in that be?" Tovim seems baffled.

"It's… it's not fun. It's urgently necessary. It's how you truly master all of the Force, and it's… how you should act. To do what's right." Kylo feels like he's talking to a brick wall. How do you explain morality to someone who doesn't seem to care? 

"What's right is what you can get away with," Fayed says, dismissively. 

"And how long will you get away with it, then?" Kylo pushes. "When the gears of the Resistance bear down on you?"

Danika laughs, and it's unpleasant. "So you're threatening us? You? You and… oh, wait. The Jedi died. The Leader told us all about how you wet yourself when he killed your uncle."

Kylo's hand reaches up, just a little, wanting to wrap around her throat with the Force, forgetting the distance between them. "I'm giving you a _chance_. And my uncle died doing what was **right** , and to save me. He sacrificed himself for the greater good. Something you won't ever understand."

"You're right. The only 'greater good' is my own."

Don't threaten violence. Don't. Remember to offer peace. Hands balling, breathing labouring, emotion rising and threatening to overspill into action and word. Remember to…

"I don't expect you to understand overnight," Kylo says, instead. "But I want you to remember that it's never too late. Never. You can always--"

Which is when the proximity alerts blare into life.

"You're really very easy to play," Danika says, an audible smirk in her voice.

"You imagine I didn't plan for this," Kylo replies. "I'm leaving. But you think about what I've said. There's a place for you, in the Grey. There's a place for any of you who want to come. It won't be easy, but you'll never regret the effort."

"Kill that signal!" comes Han's voice over the internal comms.

Kylo nods to Poe, to do it. 

Poe does not need telling twice. He's shaking a little as he cuts the holo-signal, and as soon as the connection dies he races back over to Kylo, hand on his arm.

"I'm here," he says. "I'm here. That was perfect."

He doesn't know what to think about the rest, yet. Up until now, the Knights of Ren have been nothing but faceless entities from Kylo's recent past. People they'd have to deal with one day, but not yet. And now… OK, yes, they're still technically faceless, but… they're people. And the things they were saying sound so very familiar.

And, in an odd way, it hurts.

"…it… well. I thought there'd be more threats of dismemberment, though I suppose they were told to keep the line open as long as possible." Kylo's shaking, just slightly. Pale. He's clearly very upset, and trying to keep from veering to an extreme. "But it was still… I thought maybe I could get through to someone? I don't know. I guess I thought I would be so wonderfully eloquent that they'd all clamour to join the Resistance." 

"Kylo," Poe breathes, "this was never going to happen overnight. Remember… remember how you were, at the start of all this. You didn't want to listen to a word I said. And… you had more reason than most to benefit from it."

He puts a hand on Kylo's chest, stroking over and over. Just wanting to make him feel grounded, and loved, and safe.

"But if I can't get through to them, then who can? I can't exactly let them all fall in love with _you_ ," he says, grabbing Poe's upper arms. "I should have said more. Like… love. Or… control. Or…" Hindsight is a killer. 

"…I just want to save them." It's simple, but it's the truth. "I want to save them." 

"I know you do," Poe insists, leaning in closer. "And this isn't over. You can be sure of that. You've planted seeds of doubt in their minds. We have to wait to see if any of them grow."

He desperately hopes some of them do. Partly because of the blow it would deal to the First Order, and to Snoke, but mostly because of the much more personal victory it would be for Kylo.

Arms around him, and Kylo pulls Poe's head under his chin. Just holds him, for a moment, gathering his focus and control. "Do you think… my father needs us in the cockpit, or far, far away from it?" 

"I'm sure he can manage this part without us," Poe replies. That part, at least, he can rely on. Han Solo may be many things, but he is undeniably a good pilot. Especially in _this_ ship.

Poe pushes Kylo gently back into the nearest chair, climbing on top of him, not to provoke anything, but simply to soothe him, and make him feel safe. "You were brilliant," he whispers, laying gentle kisses on Kylo's lips.

Kylo goes where he's moved, and then his arms are back around Poe, needing the contact, if nothing else. Fingers sliding under his shirt, just to lie flat against his skin and feel the heat. He isn't sure he'd manage to get up to anything too racy on this ship at the best of times, but whilst his father is piloting it away from a chase, even less so.

"He definitely approved of you yelling at him, by the way. He likes you," Kylo says, between their little kisses. "So you're officially part of the family, now. No going back, not ever…" Not that he thinks he would. 

"Good," Poe replies, smiling despite it all. "Because I didn't agree to marry you on a whim. I agreed to marry you because I want to be with you forever."

He curls in tighter, arms around Kylo's shoulders, resting their foreheads together. "And I'm here for you," he whispers. "Whatever you need. Don't forget that."

Both hands under his shirt, knotting together, in the small of his back. Kylo smiles wider, and uses his nose to nudge at his lover's. "I thought you agreed to marry me because I was fucking your brains out," he says, clearly still a little guilty about that.

"…although I may also have mentioned it in passing when being tortured by Force-lighting. And I don't know which is actually the worst."

"…The fucking-my-brains-out part too," Poe concedes, with a little grin. "You always have been very _persuasive_ …"

But he's not sure what to say about the rest. He puts his hands on Kylo's cheeks, stroking gently. "If you did, then it proves how much you mean it. Not that I need proof. I can see it in the way you look at me."

"I do," Kylo agrees, and he turns to kiss one palm, then the next, before turning wide, open eyes up at him. He's a love-struck puppy, utterly mesmerised. Utterly lost. Absolutely loving it. "I do mean it. I mean it more than anything. I… my love for you? Broke the hold of the strongest Force-user I ever met. And not even just that… I'd die for you in a heartbeat. I adore you so devastatingly, Poe, that if I lost you for real… I would go more cruel than any man has ever gone. Or I'd want to, anyway…"

He manoeuvres Poe so he's sitting more comfortably, and then puts his hands high up on his thighs. Just for the proximity, more than anything else. "I don't want a world without you. I don't. You're all I need to be happy. You, and the freedom to love you." 

"And you have me," Poe reminds him, softly, leaning in over him. Not to control, but to reassure. "You know that. You've known it – deep down – since very early on, even though sometimes it's been hard."

An impulse takes him: something he's been considering for days, but never quite dared mention, and Poe slips his hand under the neckline of Kylo's shirt, gently pulling out what he's wearing beneath it. Two silver discs, on a thin but sturdy metal chain.

Poe's dogtags. The ones he swore to Kylo, that first morning in the oasis. The ones he gave to the man, just before they were picked up from Eigengrau by the First Order.

The ones Kylo, it seems, has been wearing ever since. Even when…

"…You kept these, through it all," the pilot whispers. "Because I'm yours. And you're mine."

The Sith's eyes grow fonder, and he nods, just a little. "I wore them, through it all. He never would touch me – a mercy, at least – so he didn't know they were there. Around my neck like a leash, and above my heart like a memory. I was always, always yours."

Even with that bastard running through his thoughts, he'd never been able to really manipulate his love, to turn it into the black thing he wanted. Sown the seeds of fear and doubt, yes. Made him kowtow when threats were placed, probably. But break the heart out of him? Not once. 

"You don't wear my sabre any more. Was it getting heavy, or did you decide you no longer needed to?" No judgement in Kylo's tone when he asks. 

Poe looks almost guilty about that, especially in the wake of what Kylo has just said; words that bring heat to his cheeks. He glances down, and then back up. "I would have carried on," he answers, "but… Snap asked if he could borrow it. I don't know what he's up to, but he's definitely up to something. He told me to trust him, and I do, so… I guess it will be a surprise for us both."

"Well. He seems to be reliable enough. He _did_ care enough about you to attempt to threaten me when he first met me, so I can't fault him for his dedication to you." Kylo would possibly be jealous, except for the part where Snap seems to actually be nice, like Poe, and therefore less of a threat.

And probably heterosexual. 

"Did I ever tell you how amazing you looked, wielding it? Because you did. If I wasn't fighting for my very life and sanity at the time, I would likely have kissed you the minute you turned it on." 

Now Poe blushes all the more. It's so strange, hearing _that_ moment described this way. At the time… he'd been on the edge of an all-or-nothing precipice; do or die. And 'die' had looked highly likely.

"I spent all the time you were gone practicing with it," he says, softly. "I knew I could never hope to stand up to you in an equal fight, but I thought… I thought… if I could just get your attention…"

"You _always_ have my attention, Poe. Always have. And… I meant what I said, to Revan. And before. If you did have the Force, you'd be unstoppably strong. It's probably the galaxy making sure it balances the playing field by keeping you non-sensitive." But Kylo could imagine it: Poe, a beacon of Light with his hand bathed in green to match Kylo's red.

Kylo rubs his nose to Poe's, a tiny little murmur of contentment in his throat. "When… when it's all over – I mean, when Snoke is gone – we could… I could really train you. If you'd like. I know you shouldn't need to _use_ it, but then I could watch you, and…" Maybe it's the ship. Maybe it's the fact he has his pilot on his lap. "…you could… see if you don't want to break up with me after our first flying lesson. _Maybe_. If you promise to be patient with my temper tantrums and crippling inadequacy." He's trying to make light of it, but it really isn't a small thing in his head.

Maybe it is to 'normal' people, but to Kylo… flying is one step away from Jedi meditation techniques on his list of Do Not Want. 

The first part of this makes Poe stare at him in surprise. The second part… just elicits a smile.

"You… you mean actually train _me_? With a _lightsabre_? Kylo, I…"

He's not a Jedi. Not a 'real' Sith. Not Force-sensitive. And it's… but…

But the rules have changed. All the rules have changed.

"…If… If you wanted to, I wouldn't turn it down. I don't have the Force, but I can probably learn the physical side of it. And…" now that smile comes back, "…If you want me to teach you to fly, all you have to do is say the word. We can take it as slow as you need."

"In the old days, there were even droids who wielded lightsabres, you know. Not that I'm equating you to a droid," Kylo quickly corrects. "But yes. I'd like to. It could come to it that you need to pick mine up – or someone else's – and if nothing else, I can teach you to spar and to fence enough to stagger or buy time against a Force-sensitive, or to potentially defeat one without the Force."

He knows that Poe wouldn't be able to best a Force-sensitive on their own terms, with sabre-combat, but that doesn't mean he couldn't _help_. "You already have fast reflexes, and a strong physical core. It would not be hard to work with those attributes." And it would look hot. 

Poe smiles. "Then yes," he says. " _Please_." He does like that possibility. A lot. It still feels very odd on so many levels, and he suspects it will be a long time before he really gets used to the idea. And he'd never outright have asked for this, but… if Kylo is _offering_ , he won't turn it down.

He does, however, manage not to tag a 'Master' on after the 'Please'. Not because he doesn't mean it, but because he's conscious of Han Solo being in the next room, which isn't even technically a full 'room' because it's the cockpit, and… OK, think sensible thoughts now…

Kylo snickers, and kisses the tip of Poe's nose. "You're adorable when you're flustered, you know? And you're harder to fluster than most. Normally you're just completely unflappable." 

"Pilot, remember?" Poe says, easily. "Razor-sharp reflexes, keen mind… et cetera? Plus I learned early on that sometimes it's better if you just… don't get flapped. If nothing else, then people know you really _mean_ it when you actually do."

"So… you're flapped now?" Kylo teases some more, and leans back to look lovingly up at him. "How flapped?"

"…if that's some weird innuendo, I can turn around now and be done with it," comes a familiar voice from behind them. 

"…it isn't," Kylo tells his father. "Really." He flushes a little, too, at being caught with his fiancé on his lap. 

…OK, should have thought this through. Much as Poe knows that Solo is well aware of his relationship with the man's son, there's a difference between that and walking in on Poe literally sitting on top of him. Even fully clothed. And not doing anything beyond kissing and talking. And…

…This? Flapped.

Poe doesn't actually move, though. There's flapped, and there's giving in to it, and there's still a clear gap between the two.

"…Did you lose them?" he asks. Assuming – due to the lack of cannon fire and chaos – that the answer will be 'yes'.

"The hell kind of pilot you take me for, kid?" Han asks. "I was doing this before you were even a twinkle in anyone's eye. And I probably saw the--" He clearly realises what he was about to say, and throws his hands up. "Yes, I lost them. We punched in a jump. I'll misdirect for a while before we go back to Tahanan."

"I don't know if talking to the Knights helped, but it… helped me," Kylo says, now his father is in the room. "I want them to have every chance to save themselves, but they have to want it, too."

"Yeah. Well. You managed, and Vader did, so there's some odds for ya."

Kylo grips Poe even tighter. "Thank you. For… volunteering."

"Had to. Didn't want your menace maybe running off with my baby." And by this Han means the ship, and not his actual son. 

"Hey, I never ran off with _this_ ship," Poe protests, albeit very lightly. "Some other ones… yes, fair enough, I will concede those. But this one I only ever brought _back_."

For which he wants points. Lots of points.

"You only need to do it _once_ to lose her again," Han grouses, thumbs slinging into his belt, head cocked. "And I just got her back."

"Poe is actually a very good pilot, father."

"Good pilots don't go around losing their ships."

"You lost this one."

Han lifts a finger, and his mouth opens, and then he squints, and then his jaw shuts. Loudly. 

"When will we arrive?" Kylo asks, as sweetly as he can. 

Poe does not look smug at this. He does not. Or, not where Han can see, at least. That would be more than his life's worth.

"Soon enough," Han grumbles. "I'm gonna go check with Chewie. You two lovebirds just… don't touch anything. And before you start smart-mouthing me, I mean with your _hands_. And… oh for the love of… I'm going."

Kylo waits until he's gone to snigger into Poe's neck. "I think we broke him, and all we did was cuddle." 

"I guess that counts as a win," Poe says, grinning back. "And we were basically behaving ourselves. Which is… impressive, for us."

He should get points for that, too.

"…there are places that even I consider… ah… sacred?" Maybe not the right word. They did do it on the Sith temple floor, after all. In front of his Sith Master's holocron and, apparently, ghost. Kylo winces, just a little. "…or untouchable, at least. And also, you don't get beaten off me with a stick because he thinks he should beat me off of _you_."

Poe puts a hand on the side of Kylo's face, expression serious. Sensitive. "I know. And, trust me, much as I might tease… I know this ship has too much history for you. I would never overstep like that…"

"Doesn't mean I'm averse to… well… kisses, though?" Kylo looks hopeful. "If we can keep it to just kisses." And if his father walks in on them making out, then it's his own damn fault. 

That makes Poe smile again. "Kisses, I can do," he murmurs, happily.

And promptly – thoroughly – obliges.

***

This time, the lingering feeling, the call, is less of a surprise. Kylo curls in tight around his gently-snoring pilot, and then slips from the bed. He puts on just enough clothing to cover his modesty – shirt, pants, boots, belt, sabre – and goes out to the clearing. He wonders what his Sith mentor will tell him, this time?

Maybe some advice on how you undid the damage you'd done to young Jedi children? Other than throwing them into a Sith training temple without their consent?

He walks up to the clearing, but the figure is taller, and not what he expected. He frowns, and waits for the hood to be lowered, before he goes and puts his foot in his mouth for a second time with a dead Force-user. 

"You're learning," the ghost says. "Good."

And the ethereal figure turns. And… once again, it is not Luke Skywalker, though it is most assuredly a man this time. A man, so much younger than he was the day he fell, though perhaps as old as he was the day he _Fell_. A shock of slightly overlong dark hair, framing a face that all but saw the end of the Jedi Order. And the Sith Order.

Anakin Skywalker. Darth Vader.

"…grandfather?" Kylo asks, even though he knows the answer. His mental vision of him – the time on Eigengrau aside – has always been that of the man in the mask. Or it has for over a decade, anyway. Snoke had tried to erase the person before and after that artefact of pain. He bows his head just slightly, then looks back up. Respectful, but not obsequious. 

"Grandson," Anakin greets him, with the slightest nod of his own. "It is… good, to meet you at last, face-to-face." The barest flicker of a smile. "So to speak."

It's clear from the spectral figure's expression that he knows the ramifications of this meeting. That the man who is, and was, and would become Darth Vader is more than aware of how often Kylo Ren has called to him.

That he _is_ here now can only be truly significant.

"I assume that you coming to see me at last means I am finally ready to hear from you," Kylo says, acknowledging the gap, the long, long nights spent wondering why revelation wouldn't come. "Because you are who you became, and not who… you used to be." 

"I… am many things," Anakin Skywalker says, his tone almost contemplative. "I am who I was, who I became, and who I became after that. And… I think, perhaps, you have reached a similar crossroads. Albeit faster, and with less bloodshed. Though that is not to belittle what you _have_ been though. Not at all."

The one once destined to bring Balance – though not in the way anyone could have expected – paces closer to his grandson, seeming to study him carefully.

"You called to me many times, before. But the words I have to offer you would not have helped, then. You needed to reach this point yourself. And, now that you have…"

A pause. A little headtilt. "Tell me, Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren… does the fate of the other six trouble you?"

Kylo's head lowers again, this time under the weight of guilt. "It does. Three were Snoke's before I arrived. One joined, but I made him who he is. And two…" the twins, the sisters… "Two would likely never have fallen, if it wasn't for my hand in their destinies. How can I not be troubled by that?" 

"You played a part in what happened to them, that is true," Anakin agrees. "But you must also credit them with some element of choice. Perhaps not then, but now. You, after all, have _chosen_ a different path. You weren't forced onto it. You could, if you wished, have continued to serve as Apprentice and Right-Hand to your now-former Master, Darth Plagueis…"

Kylo's attention snaps back up. "You mean… the Supreme Leader was a _Sith_ after all?" 

Anakin smiles. Perhaps he enjoys dropping these little bombshells. Perhaps… he is just pleased his grandson is so sharp. "Indeed," he answers, smoothly. "He _was_. What he is now… is hard to say for sure. But he lost the Way of the Sith very long ago. I could not even tell you how he survived, when Darth Sidious was so, so sure of his old master's death."

Another little headtilt. "But he did. And he waited. He watched the fall of the Republic, the rise of the Empire, the fall of the Empire, the rise of the Republic. And _then_ , the man you now call Snoke made his move."

"…no wonder he's so powerful," Kylo says, somewhat – begrudgingly – in awe. A man who had trained the Emperor himself. A man who had _survived_ the Emperor himself. No wonder indeed. "He must be… two hundred years old? Or close?" 

"At best guess, that would be correct," Anakin answers. "My own knowledge of him is also limited. Sidious' doing, of course. But he was supposedly possessed of the power to cheat death itself, which could explain much of it."

The once-called Chosen One meets his grandson's eyes again, and there is a flicker of a haunted look in his own. "When you kill him, Kylo, make _sure_ he is dead. This cycle cannot be allowed to continue. You must put an end to it."

"I will," Kylo says, in earnest. "He has too-long influenced the galaxy for evil ends. I won't let him hurt another child. Or adult. Not if I can help it." Although he does wonder how he's supposed to ensure this, when even Darth Sidious himself couldn't. 

"I believe you," Anakin replies. "Your power is indeed something to witness. I wonder…" that little smile again, "…what would have happened, if we had the chance to go up against each other, at our prime. An impossible situation, yes, but… something to think on."

Kylo wonders, too. On the one hand, Darth Vader was one of the strongest Jedi ever, and then one of the strongest Sith. He faced down Sidious himself. He rose from ashes, barely anything left. He was _formidable_ , and Kylo revered him for that, even under Snoke.

On the other… Vader, turned back to Anakin, had barely had the time to recognise his own self before he'd died. He'd never made the last few steps that Kylo has already wobbled past. He never got the chance to work on re-integrating both sides, and that is where he thinks Snoke – Plagueis – will fail. It is impossible to know for sure, and to state one or the other is to either be too modest, or too proud. "It would have been interesting, if nothing else," is his measured, middle response.

It's getting easier to make those. 

Anakin pauses, just long enough to let the image sink in, before continuing. "My primary reason for coming here now, Kylo, is your Knights. You were troubled after your conversation with them. Troubled by their hostility, by their blanket indifference to your words. But what you need to remember is that they face a choice, just as you faced a choice. It is not an easy one, and it is not an immediate one. And not all of them will opt for the same path."

Kylo considers the words for a moment, trying to let them settle inside. It still hurts, because that angry, child's voice **rails** for safety. Not just for himself, but for them. "They are old enough to make their decisions, it's true. And even if they still side with him while he has his control over them, I suppose once he is gone… whatever they pick, then, it is their own decision. It is just difficult to let them suffer, when I know the tricks that Snoke has played on me. And if… if they were ever able to be Light – or wanted to be – they will come back."

"They may," Anakin counters, firm but not harsh. "Some who Fall come back from it. Some do not. Even if they had good in them before… they do not make it back. Or…" the slightest bow of the head, "it happens too late. But their ultimate fate is not on you. It is up to you to show them the way back. To offer it, to be there to guide them on it. But only they can choose to take it."

"If I forced them back, I would be no better than Snoke," Kylo thinks, aloud. "All I can do is offer an example, and assistance. But I…" His voice trails, his emotion rising again. "I will still mourn them, and grieve them. Even if I allow them to make the wrong choice, I… think that is important, too."

Anakin nods. "It is. I am not for one moment suggesting you deny your emotions, Kylo. _Darth_ Kylo. Grief is natural, and vital, and valid. What I am asking you to consider is your _guilt_ , and – consequently – the things for which you do not have to feel it. You bear some responsibility for what happened before. But, if you do what you can for these Knights, if you offer them the same chance you were given… you are not complicit if they choose – freely – to remain solely in the Dark."

Kylo thinks about that for a while. It's… true. He doesn't blame his parents, or his uncle, not any more. He still wishes things had been different, but he understands that they weren't. And not through malice, but through sheer lack of ability. He's… he's forgiven them. So he'll have to forgive himself this, too. "Yes. You are, of course, right. Every act I do – every time I try to improve things – it is another step. But I can't control everything. And I have to… admit that." Which isn't easy.

"If only you'd found Darth Revan's temple, Grandfather. Can you imagine how the galaxy would look, today?" 

The Ghost of the Chosen One smiles. "One of two things, grandson, I assure you. Either I would have forged the new, great Order whose existence instead now falls to you… or I would have torn it to the ground and scorched it from the galaxy. As I did with too many other relics of the Old Ways. Partly at Sidious' behest, and partly… of my own volition. Perhaps, had I been young enough, it might have saved me. If I could have found some way to reconcile the Dark and the Light in my heart, before the Dark overwhelmed me completely…"

For second, so very much flickers in Anakin's eyes: the fires of Mustafar, the anguished cries of Padmé Amidala. The grief and betrayal in the voice of the man he once called Master. It echoes in the Force, hot and bright, for that briefest of instants, and then it is gone, as those moments are; long since lost in the breeze of time.

"You can succeed where I did not, Kylo. You can bring Balance to the Force."

"You may not have done it, but you laid the path," Kylo reassures him. "You saved your son – and my mother – and you showed the galaxy that not all those who Fall are lost forever. So don't think that. We all have our parts to play, and yours was no less needed than mine will be." 

And then he realises he just tried to cheer up Anakin Skywalker. And then his mind breaks all over again. His fingers slide against the hilt at his hip. "Both of your blades will break him down. Your legacy will be passed down through any Apprentice or Padawan who comes after us." 

Anakin actually chuckles, some hint of the once-daring young man – and flyboy – he used to be, showing through. "And now you counsel me?" he says, not at all harshly, and obviously amused. "Perhaps we were both born to the wrong time, you and I. But you are right. For good and ill, I played my part, and now it comes to pass that you play yours. You, and Rey, together. Balance, and hope, for those who will accept it."

"If not me, then who?" Kylo says, with a tilt of his head and a thin smile. "You will have to forgive my impertinence: being kind to others is something I am long out of practice with. So you should just accept it, or you might offend me." And yes, he… is teasing. Darth Vader. Anakin Skywalker. His mind cannot possibly begin to process this state of affairs. 

"I… I do have one question. If… if you would… indulge me? My grandmother… Padmé? I know she cannot appear to me, but… you and she are…?" He needs to know. He needs to know they're happy, again. He needs to know that when he and Poe… a flicker of distress, a stab of fear along the Bond he doesn't quell in time to prevent it from arcing out, and he hopes it's just a shadow in Poe's dreaming mind and nothing more. 

The question does not seem to take Anakin by surprise. Perhaps he has been waiting for it.

He smiles. It is a very different smile from any of the others he has exhibited thus far. The smile of a man who might have been a very good father, had choice and circumstance allowed it. He paces closer to Kylo, meeting his grandson's eyes.

"What the Force binds together," he says, soft and serious, "death itself cannot rip apart. She is with me. She is happy. And the same will be true for your pilot. That much, you can be sure of."

A wash of relief chases the dark shadow, going to soothe what worry it left, and Kylo starts to breathe again. It is quite one thing being told, academically, in the halls of your youth that the Force welcomes you back when you are no more, but it is… something else entirely to hear it from the other side. From someone who knows this, and you, and how it feels to actually lose a loved one. Kylo hasn't suffered what Anakin did, and he's intensely grateful of that fact.

"Please send her my best wishes," Kylo says, which is not what he intends to say. Or it is, but the tone he says it in implies so very, very much more. An unspoken 'thank you', that he is sure Anakin is more than sensitive enough to read into his words. 

"I will," Anakin promises, clearly understanding. "And know that she sends you hers."

He pauses a second, and then steps in closer; close enough that he could make physical contact, were it possible. "May the Force be with you, Darth Kylo… Master of the Knights of Eigengrau…"

And the Force Ghost fades quickly back, the Chosen One vanishing from view.

So far, though, Kylo's Knights consist of one Grey Jedi in training, and a Forceless Grey Sith. Still. It's a start, and he knows that the two of them are some of the strongest allies he could ever have hoped for. And then there's the whole Resistance behind them, too. 

Kylo pauses for a long moment before going back to his pilot. 

Three decades. Three decades, before his grandfather spoke to him. He almost thought he never would. 

Poe will likely have a fit about this news, too.


	44. Pazaak Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back, everyone! Today, we have the first of two chapters covering the long-awaited Pilots' Pazaak Night.
> 
> As a reminder, we'll be putting the next chapter up on Saturday, as we work on rebuilding our posting-buffer. So we'll see you all then! :-)

The trouble with pilots is that they're very persistent. This does not just extend to Poe – though he is, it must be noted, an excellent example. For the next few days, it primarily extends to Snap Wexley, who keeps on asking Poe the exact same question:

"When are you two coming to Pazaak Night?"

Eventually, given that he hasn't had a proper night out in weeks, and given said aforementioned best friend's persistence, Poe decides it would probably be wise to mention the whole thing to Kylo.

"So… we sort of had an invitation for the evening," he starts out, when they've just got back to their quarters after having dinner in the mess hall.

"…we do?" Kylo asks, remembering that the last invitation they had that wasn't delivered to them both was Rey and Finn. And that one had been his family, and had been a traumatic event in many ways. He doubts his mother would go straight to Poe, so it's someone else. "What is it?" 

Poe is not entirely sure why he's nervous about asking this. But he is.

"Well, every now and then, there's a bunch of us… you know, from the squadron… and we get together to… kick back, relax, blow off some steam. Generally it involves a few drinks – sometimes more than a few drinks – and cards. Pazaak, usually. And… several of the others have been trying to get the two of us to come along. I mean, Snap's the ringleader in all this, of course, but he's not the only one who's asked."

"You do realise I don't know how to play cards?" Kylo asks. "Any games I did play, I was really young. And I very much outclassed every opponent through illicit means?" 

He is, however, pleased by the invitation. If also a little nervous. "Any chance he'd let me just observe that part?" 

"Of course," Poe answers, relaxing somewhat, if not entirely. "I mean, I can teach you, but if you just want to observe, that's perfectly OK. Not everyone plays."

This is partly because Snap has a tendency to clear them out. Not that it ever stops any of them for long.

"And I did try to remind him of the part where you can read minds," Poe adds, stepping in closer and putting his hands around Kylo's waist. "Mostly… it's more about the social element than anything else. I mean, our lives are dangerous. So it does us good to kick back once in a while."

"Well… if it will help with the socialising thing… though you should know that I, ah…" Kylo pushes his nose into Poe's hair. "The extent of my alcoholic descent into madness is really just a few glasses of brandy with a meal. I'm assuming I can still socialise without drinking?"

As he really isn't sure how he'd react if he drank more. He thinks he'd either be impossible to intoxicate, or really, _really_ easy. 

Poe laughs. "Sure you can. It's not obligatory. The whole point of the night is just… fun." He nips at Kylo's jaw, not to provoke anything, but simply because he wants to be loving. "And you should get to have fun. Besides… the obvious, of course."

"So… what do you say?"

"I say: yes. But bear in mind that you might need to rescue me. And that… no. No conditions. We should do this." Kylo pulls him in tighter. "…tell me I can wear black, though?" 

This makes Poe reach to cup Kylo's face in both hands. "Of course," he answers, very much smoother now he's confident Kylo is content with the idea. "You look good in black. And there's no rule saying you _can't_ dress to impress on Pazaak Night…"

"…if you intend to have me on your arm as a diversionary tactic, whilst I assist you in clearing out your squadron with nefarious means… you should know that Grey Sith are more morally flexible than our kindred Jedi…" Kylo smirks. "As long as we don't get them all trying to murder you on bombing runs in retaliation…" 

"Kylo, love of my life, they'd have to catch me first," Poe replies, beaming. "And as to the rest… would I do a thing like that?"

'Yes' is what his expression says. Yes, he would.

"Doesn't my mother pay you enough? Because I am _also_ not averse to using nepotism to get you a pay rise." Kylo kisses Poe's nose. "But we can do both. Maybe invest in some more black clothes for me, and some more… things for the toy chest… when we're next on a 'civilised' world?" 

"It isn't about money, Kylo. It's about _honour_. And _victory_. And… you know, things like that." Poe's attempt at Serious Face does not last long. "Though if it facilitates… other things too… then all the more reason to do it…"

"You pilots are a strange lot," Kylo concludes. "And if you want to go full Sith on them, and get your _victory_ , who am I to stop my Apprentice?" He grabs hold of Poe's ass, though, and pulls him in tighter, smirking even wider.

"…how long before we have to get ready?" he asks, a lascivious look in his brown eyes. "Because if we have to take these clothes off _anyway_ …" 

Poe's own eyes go dark with pleasure. "Well, if we're going to make an entrance, we really _do_ need to be fashionably late…"

***

When they are – finally – ready to leave, the two men set out, heading up from their quarters in the direction of the squadron mess hall. They have one stop to make en route, Poe announces, and takes a detour via Rey's quarters.

Though 'Rey and Finn's quarters' is more accurate now. Which makes him smile.

Poe doesn't even have a chance to knock on the door, because it opens just as he gets close, and Rey all but bounds out.

Clearly, she's been in on the plan too.

"Thought you two were never going to show up," she says, brightly.

"…had to, ah, get ready," Kylo says, with less tact than he thinks he has.

"I've been looking forward to this all day," Finn says, either oblivious to the implication, or just entirely unfazed by it. "It's real nice seeing how your pilots all get along. In the Order, they didn't even want you to talk much to your own unit."

"You might have had thoughts of your own, then," Kylo replies, somewhat fondly. "Imagine how many people you'd have brought with you, in that case."

"Hey, if the Order caught more Poes, then more of us would break him out to get free." Finn says with a wide smile, and then takes Rey's hand. 

"Much as it would be an interesting tactic, I'm going to veto sending Poe in undercover just to fly the enemy out one at a time." Kylo kisses Poe's hair. "He's too valuable, now. And also, too high profile." 

Poe grins. "Well, I could take a transport ship next time. Do several at once. It'd be less fun than a TIE, but more efficient…"

And then he gestures in the direction of the squadron mess hall. "Follow me."

He leads them across grass and duracrete, towards the building in question. As they approach, it's clear there are already quite a few people here, judging by the glow spilling from the windows, and the low – but unmistakeable – sound of music.

"You know how to play?" Finn asks them. "I get that Poe does, but…?"

Kylo shakes his head. "Not a clue. I'm just going to…" he puts two fingers to his temple, faking a mind-control gesture. 

"Pretty sure that's against the rules," Finn replies.

"I'll make them forget I did it, too."

" _Definitely_ against the rules." 

"…Aren't we re-writing the rules..?" Rey says, with a surprisingly wicked little grin.

"Just follow my lead…" Poe replies, returning her smile and then attempting something vaguely close to his more sensible expression.

And he heads up to the door, taking them inside.

Despite the fact that the Resistance hasn't been on Tahanan for all that long, the squadron mess hall looks like it could have been here for years. There are numerous banners and emblems on the walls: not just Red and Blue squads, but the smaller squadrons beneath them; Dagger, Stiletto, Cobalt, Coalstreak. There are planetary insignia, and several older symbols clearly from the days of the Rebel Alliance.

And… there are the more personal things. Pictures of members of the squad, at various times and places. Strange memorabilia, like what looks like part of an X-Wing's landing strut, or what might be a deckplate from a TIE fighter.

It doesn't take much to see that this is a place that matters to the people who own it.

Said people are – currently – mostly sitting in a huddle around one of the central tables, though they look up as the door opens, and they're obviously surprised by what they're seeing.

"Dameron!" Snap exclaims, leaping up at once. "You made it! And I see you finally brought guests."

"Sure I did," Poe answers, easily. "All three of 'em. Figured it was time _this_ lot got to meet _that_ lot without life and death being on the line. Bastian's home-brew aside…"

Speaking of which…

He glances over at Finn and Rey. "Don't drink Bastian's home-brew. Trust me. Stick to things with a recognisable label on them."

"Gotcha," Finn says. "So. You brought us here to fleece us?"

Kylo makes a very, very slight gesture with his fingers, and nods at Rey. Clearly indicating that she'll be just as adept at ruining the gameplay as him, or… close enough. 

"To fleece you?" Snap repeats, looking positively saintly. "Two Force-users and a former Stormtrooper? Please. The only one getting fleeced tonight will be our dear squadron commander. The rest of you are our _guests_."

"Don't believe a word this one says," Jess Pava cuts in, rising from the table to join them. "He'll fleece _anyone_ foolish enough to play him."

"…Which _does_ usually mean Poe, then?" Rey says, with a little headtilt.

"You are _all_ going to pay for this the next time we run manoeuvres," Poe mutters, with a shake of his head.

"You're going to need to explain to us how we play." Kylo slides an arm around Poe's waist, tugging him back to his side, making it very clear that no one will be fleecing him any time soon. 

"Yeah, you're way ahead of all of us," Finn agrees. 

"Ohhh, trust me, I'll explain," Snap promises, with a grin, and he turns back to the others. "What do you think, three tables?"

"No way can you manage three, Wexley," Karé Kun insists, grinning too. She has a glass in one hand, and a deck of cards in the other, rifling through them idly.

"You wanna put money on that?" is Snap's reply.

"And embarrass you in front of _everyone_?"

"…I have a suggestion," Rey cuts in, her voice so very calm and Jedi-like, and _distracting_. "You teach me, and Snap can teach Kylo. Then he and I can compare… notes."

Karé laughs. "This one, I like. Come join us, kid. Finn, too." She looks round. "Hey, Bastian, you got any more of that stuff you make?"

Iolo Arana meets Rey's eyes and shakes his head, very subtly. Clearly in the same camp as Poe when it comes to the mysterious home-brew.

They quickly arrange themselves into three tables, with Rey and Finn joining Karé and Iolo, Bastian joining up with Nien, Asty and Lek, and Poe and Kylo soon settling opposite Snap and Jess. The rest of the pilots linger close to their table of choice, watching.

Poe manages to find the four of them something to drink that _wasn't_ brewed behind a tree somewhere, and then Snap puts two separate decks of cards on the table.

"All right," he starts out, brightly, picking up the first deck and shuffling it as he talks. "Pazaak is a broadly simple game of half-chance and half-skill. All the cards have numbers on them, and the object is to get as close to twenty without going over. Closest to twenty wins the set, first to three sets wins the pot. If you end on a tie, you play the set again. You play head to head, one on one, and in a tournament your standing dictates who you play next."

Snap fans the first deck of cards out on the table. They're green, each marked with a single number in black.

"Now, in the set itself, we each take turns drawing a card. Just one per turn. The numbers on them range from one to ten. Once you want to stop drawing cards, you stand, and whatever score you have is what your opponent has to beat. You go over twenty, you bust, and your opponent wins. So far, mostly chance, with some common sense thrown into the mix."

"But… this is where the element of skill comes into play…" He reaches for the second deck of cards – which is smaller – and fans these out too. "Each player also has a side-deck. Most of us actually have our own, but we keep spares in for when we have guests. Your side-deck consists of ten cards, and – at the start of each set – you draw four at random. These are your hand, and only you can see them. You can play one after each time you've drawn a card from the main deck, though you're not obliged to, and you only get the four you draw for the whole set. Side-deck cards change your overall score: blue cards add to it – between one and six, depending on the number – and red ones subtract. The yellow ones can do either, depending on what best serves the player. Those ones are particularly useful, so – to keep things interesting – we have a house rule limiting you to a maximum of two of those in your side-deck."

Snap sits back. "That all make sense?"

Kylo nods, slowly. "Is there such a thing as backing out? So if I thought my hand was terrible, I could not play it? And if so, if I backed out, and you'd gone over twenty, would you have to declare it, or could you lie?" 

"You can't back out, per se. You stand when you're as close to twenty as you think you can get. But your cards are visible on the table, so lying doesn't come into it. The only thing your opponent can't see is the unplayed cards from your side-deck. _That's_ where the sneaky element comes into it. You know which four cards you have, and how they can alter your score, so you know how much of a risk you can take when deciding whether to keep going or stand."

He grins. "Nine times out of ten, it's about trying to psych each other out. Hence why we try to mix it with a little alcohol. Otherwise it could get dead serious."

"I see. So it's a game of intimidation… and not, actually, mathematics. So the ideal would be to not score an open twenty, but to modify your hand to it? Do you place incremental bids, or…?" Kylo doesn't know how he'd ever be able to not read people. If they were drunk, they'd have even less ability to block their excitement or worry. 

Snap laughs. "Well, math does technically come into it. But yes, intimidation too. Friendly intimidation, obviously. There's no _harm_ in scoring an open twenty, but it's statistically difficult, and modifying gives you more control. As for the bids, you wager a set amount upfront, rather than going card by card, though sometimes players will agree to up the ante midway through if a set is becoming particularly interesting."

"I still think it would be unfair of me to actually play," Kylo says. "Even if I don't deliberately go into people's minds, I have… an affinity for sensing superficial emotional reactions. So I should… observe, instead?" 

With ease, Snap gathers the main deck up and sits back. "It's entirely up to you. Some of us prefer to watch."

"And _some of us_ play every time," Jess cuts in, whacking him lightly on the arm, grinning.

"What can I say, Pava? It's a gift."

"Or a curse…" Poe mutters, and puts his own side-deck on the table. "Shuffle 'em, Wexley. Let's see how good you play with a Sith Lord watching."

Kylo isn't going to play the first hand, even if he does play later on. He wants to see what happens, first. Wants to see the dynamics, the subtle cues, the interplay between people. It's fascinating, because it's a bloodless war between friends. And… maybe that's his own skewed perceptions on reality, but it's how he sees it.

"Are you going to show me how it's done?" he asks Poe. "I'd like to watch you take him to the cleaners." 

Poe looks sideways at him, and grins. "Oh, I'll show you how it's done," he replies.

So, no pressure…

Snap finishes shuffling the main deck and puts it on the table, and both men then start shuffling their side-decks. Whilst staring at each other. It's like watching two combatants circling, but considerably less impressive.

"Ante?" Snap asks.

"Fifty."

"Scared?"

"Please."

Both men drop a chip into the pot, and draw four cards from their side-decks.

"I'm feeling generous, Dameron," Snap says, gesturing gracefully to the main deck. "You go first."

Poe reaches forward, taps the main deck three times – an old superstition – and draws, laying the card on the table.

It's a seven.

"Promising," he remarks, almost offhand, and takes a deliberately overlong sip of his drink before saying. "End. Your turn."

Snap doesn't look surprised. He draws, and lays the card down too.

"Four. Slow start."

"Would this be easier if I just got you two some open space and a pair of sharp sticks?" Jess suggests.

"…No," both men answer, in unison.

"Plus, I would probably break his arm if he hurt Poe," Kylo says, very smoothly. "But only in one place." 

"…I believe what my _extraordinarily_ powerful fiancé is trying to say is that cards might be easier," Poe adds. "End?"

"End," Snap replies, and takes a rather large mouthful of his own drink.

Poe reaches, and draws again.

"Five. End."

Drink. Very determined to win this. Especially due to said aforementioned watching extraordinarily powerful fiancé.

A very slight headtilt from Snap, and then he draws too.

"Nine." Exhale. "Hope I don't see any more of those this set."

"You and me both."

"End. Your move, Dameron."

Poe takes another sip of his drink and looks at his cards. Seven and five on the table, giving him twelve, and still four cards in his hand: plus two, plus six, minus one, and a plus-minus two. Not bad, not world-shattering.

He reaches, and draws.

"…One."

It's hard to say which man looks more surprised by that, or more concerned. At least… until Poe looks down at his hand again.

And smiles.

"Oh, you're up to something," Snap says.

"Damn straight I'm up to something," Poe replies, and lays his plus six side-card on the table. "I believe that makes nineteen. I stand."

"… _Commander_ , where did you get _that_?" Jess asks, sounding like she's having a delightful time.

Poe shrugs. "Asty was making some changes to his deck. Bought this one from him just yesterday. Wasn't a hundred percent sold on the idea… but I am now."

Snap looks at the table and headtilts. "You're really gonna make me do this?"

"I am really gonna make you do this."

"…is this when I'm supposed to kiss you, or does that come after?" Kylo asks, absently picking up a drink of something and sipping and not actually processing the taste. 

"I'd give it about another minute," is Poe's reply. He doesn't want to jinx this, after all, and Snap has legendarily good luck when it comes to showdowns.

"I don't need the whole minute," Snap says, and draws.

It's a two. He stares at his side-cards like they're letting the team down.

Jess pats him on the arm. "That's rotten luck. Unless you've got…" and she leans in and glances at his hand, without any regard for personal space. "…Nope. Although…"

"Yes, Pava, I am thinking what you're thinking," Snap says, and lays down a side-card. It's a plus-minus two.

"Oh, cute," Poe replies. "Real cute. But it's not gonna save you."

"Isn't it?"

And Snap draws again. Poe actually holds his breath. Snap may be on the defensive, but the odds are most likely in his favour, unless the card comes up high…

It does. It's a ten. Usually a killer this late in the game, though with that plus-minus on the table… a minus-three would clinch it for him.

Their eyes meet across the table. "You need minus-three," Poe says, softly. "You got it?"

"…Nope," Jess cuts in, killing the mood dead. "He does not have it."

"Damn it, Pava, I was going for effect!" Snap protests, and then grins. "Nice one, Dameron. You got me."

Kylo decides now is the time for kissing, and he leans in to peck one against Poe's cheek. "I'm still not entirely convinced, but I know you won, so…" he picks up his glass, and holds it to Poe's face. "This tastes good." 

"Doesn't it just?" Poe agrees, looking very happy at the kiss. "And… hold on." He stares at the glass again. And his own. And… didn't he come over here with _beers_? "…Wexley, why are we drinking Bastian's home-brew?"

Snap shrugs, looking unfazed. "Because it's delicious. And fun. And because you still owe me two more sets…"

Right. One of _those_ nights, then. Poe grins. "Snap," he says. "I only need _one_."

***

He needs two. And it's a very, very close-run thing, which ends with quite a lot of the other pilots coming over to watch, several of them cheering when Poe lays a final minus-two on the table to clinch the set, and the game.

"Damn, Poe, if Sith Lords are this lucky, I gotta get me one," Snap says, as he sits back.

Jess whacks him on the arm. "You're just lucky you weren't playing Nar Shaddaa rules," she remarks.

Poe actually facepalms. "Jess, we are not playing Strip-Pazaak again. That night was… not a night that happened."

"Tell _that_ to Asty," Jess replies, grinning. "I saw more than I was _possibly_ ready for…"

"No one is stripping Poe but me," Kylo says, an arm around his partner's waist. "But if you all want to humiliate yourself in front of me, I won't object." 

Although Kylo isn't sure what he would do if they did start to take their clothes off. Run away, probably. He can look Poe in the eyes, but if he had to see other people less-than-dressed, how would he take them seriously, after? The drink is nice, though. Kylo doesn't know why Poe is so against it. It tastes like fruit and sunlight and power and also something vaguely resembling motor oil, but only an afternote. Or something. 

Snap actually blushes. Jess does not.

Poe leans right back in his chair – deliberately showing off how flexible he is – and calls across the room. "How's it going down there, Rey?"

She grins over at him. "I am _very_ good at this!"

"I never doubted it," Poe replies, and rocks forwards again, before he does something less graceful like overbalance.

"We should play blind," Kylo says, suddenly. "That would be more fun." He's getting itchy watching, though his natural competitive streak is not normally – ah – a welcome element, right now the liquor is making it too loud to ignore.

And if he accepts a handicap… then it would be easier, right? Although it would wholly remove the main point of the game…? 

Snap whistles through his teeth. He's back to shuffling his side-deck, over and over, and his expression goes thoughtful. "So… keep the side-cards blind? Drawn at random, if we choose to take the risk?"

" _Interesting_ ," Poe agrees, looking between Snap and Kylo as if he senses quite a showdown on the cards. So to speak.

"We would be on an even playing-field, then. You'd know what cards were in your side-deck, but not which you might draw. It would then truly be chance." Kylo has no idea if this is even a rule people use, but most people don't play Sith. 

He picks up his glass, eyes on Snap's as he drinks. He may not be a gamer, but he knows intimidation tactics and – stop. He has to stop treating this like warfare and interrogation.

Even if it is easy to do so.

Snap sets his glass down at the same time as Kylo does. "Kylo, my friend… you got yourself a deal."

"This is going to end badly, isn't it?" Jess whispers, faux-sotto-voce, to Poe.

"Yep," is his equally unstealthy reply. And he looks positively delighted by the prospect.

"Please may I use one of the spare side-decks?" Kylo asks, looking for – ah, there. "Thank you." He turns them so only he and Poe can see them, memorising the ten colours and numbers as best he can through the sudden, slight haze on the world. 

"It's time to see if you're lucky or not," he tells Snap. 

"I am _very_ lucky," Snap insists. "And…" He looks at Poe. "I should avoid trash-talking the Sith Lord, yes?"

"I would advise it," Poe answers, and manages to stop himself adding 'trust me, I know what happens if you try'.

But only just.

Jess shuffles the main deck, given that Snap is still shuffling his side-deck, over and over like it might somehow save him. She puts the deck on the table and sits back. "Guest goes first, right?"

Snap nods. "Right."

Kylo leans over to the deck and picks up the top card, turning it over. It's a five, and he thinks that's probably a good start? He doesn't know, so he sits back. Wait, was he supposed to say something? "Your go?" 

Snap takes a sip of his drink – perhaps for courage – and reaches to draw. "Two." He lays it down. "End. And you go again…"

The next card Kylo picks is a three, making a total of eight. Which is still very low, and if he's going to need his side cards, maybe he should start now? He plays one, and it's… well. Minus three. Back to five. Five is a quarter of the way there, right? Hmm. He has no idea if this is good or not. If nothing else, it's entertaining. He takes a longer sip. 

"…That was unexpected," Poe murmurs. But sometimes low is good.

Snap reaches and draws. It's a six. He sits back, and nods. "End. Your turn."

Kylo pulls out a ten. Okay. Fifteen. He knows he doesn't have anything in the side-deck that would tip him over, so he pulls out… a plus-minus two. Which could go up or down. So he's either at seventeen, or thirteen. Interesting.

"Your move," Kylo says, and glugs more. 

"Ooooh, nice," Jess remarks, approvingly, and glances at Snap. "What do you say to that?"

"I say…" And he draws. "Two. Again? I think maybe these cards don't like me…"

Kylo glares at them, and then has some more of his own drink. He pulls the next card, not even daring to look at it just yet. He feels through Poe to see if it's good or not, then looks down to see: a single one. Which means… eighteen… or… fourteen. He pulls from the side-deck, probably reckless, but not caring. 

A plus-one. Nineteen. The galaxy probably likes Kylo Ren, or at least wants to make up for his previous bad luck. "Your move, Blue Leader. I'm standing." 

Snap leans in. "Let's see what these cards _really_ think of me…"

And he draws. And stares at the card, as if he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing. And… is maybe just a teeny-tiny bit scared for his life, all of a sudden.

It's a ten. And he already has ten.

"That… looks like twenty," he manages.

Kylo sighs. "Congratulations," he says, somewhat into his cups. Though he does manage to say it, at least. "I'm still going to destroy you." 

"I don't doubt it," Snap replies, still looking slightly target-shaped. "That… would be…"

"…The Snap Wexley Good Luck Effect?" Jess suggests, obviously trying not to laugh. "Y'know, the one you tell us all about?"

"Yes," he agrees. "Yes, that." And he looks at Kylo. "Second set?"

The second set starts with echoing numbers, then Snap goes straight from a fourteen to twenty-three, and only brings it down to twenty-one, which means Kylo wins on a thirteen. Which means he's more than happy.

"So. We're even," Kylo says. "Looks like everything to play for." 

Snap pokes his side-deck. "These guys are being fickle with me tonight." He downs what's left of his current drink, pours himself some more, and sets the bottle down. "Final round. All or nothing."

"…You're gonna get your ass kicked," Poe murmurs. He's resting rather heavily on one hand, watching the proceedings with obvious glee.

"Which of us was that directed at?" Snap tries.

"Which do you think?" Poe replies.

This time Snap stands on nineteen. Kylo goes well over with twenty-five, and – surprisingly – does not slice the table in half. He does, however, narrow his eyes. "Again." He isn't giving up until he wins at least _one_ round. Chance or not. 

"I think we're gonna need more drinks over here," Snap manages.

"You got that right," Poe agrees, unhelpfully.

***

In the end, the second game is even more tense than the first. Snap busts out rather spectacularly in the first set, but then forces an impressive draw in the second. And then Kylo busts out in the third, leaving them at one-all with a tie-breaker to play.

And they draw. They're both on a total of fourteen after two cards each, and then it's Snap's turn to draw again.

A nine, which puts him at twenty-three. Only one chance now. He winces, and reaches for his side-deck. "C'mon, baby, don't let me down…" he mutters… and turns the top card over.

Minus-one. Not enough.

"…Ah damn, that's me out," he says, and then grins. "Nice one, Kylo."

"…it's just chance," Kylo says, with as much grace as he can manage. He doesn't do losing well (his Uncle Chewie taught him that lesson, young) and it's only because there's no real skill involved in turning over random cards that he hasn't gotten so worked up that the table shakes.

Probably. He sits back, nursing his drink. "I think I should quit while I'm – well. Even." Not ahead, but he lost as many as he won, and that's the same as what he came in on, so it's a reasonable way to bow out. "Besides, I shouldn't have _all_ the fun." 

"Oh, speaking of fun, that reminds me," Snap says, suddenly, a thought obviously crossing his mind. "I've got something for you, Poe. Hold on…"

And he gets up and disappears off for a moment. Even Jess doesn't seem to know what he's up to.

He isn't gone long. When Snap gets back, he's carrying Kylo's old lightsabre hilt, and Poe feels… odd, deep in his chest, at the sight of it.

"Wexley, what did you do?" he asks.

Snap grins. "You're gonna love this. So… at first I sort of wanted to see if I could fix it. But the crystal is completely bust, and there's no way I can fix _that_. I had a backup plan, though. We… should probably go outside for this part."

Kylo thinks about pointing out something about crystals, and non-Force-sensitives, but he thinks that might be rude. Instead, he stands and holds his hand out to help Poe to his feet. "I'm curious to see what you've done." 

The four of them slip outside, and Snap leads the way around the back of the building, to where there's a shooting range. He squares up to the first target, and raises the sabre-hilt like he's holding a blaster, aiming with what was the operational end.

And apparently still is, given the amber-red blaster-bolt that suddenly lances out, racing through the cool, night air and impacting squarely against the target.

"…Maker, how did you do that?" Poe exclaims.

Snap grins. "Very carefully!" he replies. "There were enough salvageable – or replaceable – electronics to convert it into a blaster. Pretty powerful one, too – the firing aperture runs through the largest remaining crystal fragment. Boosts the output like you would not believe… well, OK, _you_ probably _would_ believe."

He looks almost nervously between Poe and Kylo. "You like it?"

"Of course I do," Poe answers, clapping him on the arm. "And I'm impressed."

And now he's got a very valid, practical reason to keep carrying it. Long-term.

Kylo actually laughs. "I'd heard there used to be blaster-blades, but I've never heard of one being retrofitted quite like that. It's impressive. The Order – and the Empire – used kyber crystals in the Death Star and Starkiller, you know. It'll be pleasing to reclaim even one crystal for good use." 

" _Very_ good use," Poe agrees. "Can I..?"

"Oh, absolutely, here you go." And Snap holds out the hilt. "Safety's here, and there's your trigger. In terms of range and power, it's like a handheld, but better. Recoil's decent, too – not quite as severe as you'd expect, from the size."

Poe takes it, getting a feel for the weight, and the slightly unusual trigger. And then he squares up to the target, clicking the safety off and firing and…

"… _Nice_ ," he says, approvingly, as the bolt hits home. The aim is remarkably good, and Snap's quite right about the recoil. "You outdid yourself this time. Thank you."

Snap grins. "I like a challenge. And you're welcome."

"Quite right that my Apprentice should have his own sabre," Kylo says, and kisses Poe's cheek in admiration. It's perfect for him, it really is. Using the broken parts of Kylo's past to make something functional, re-purposed, _useful_.

The Sith turns to Snap. "I'll thank you, too. It's… it's good to know it isn't going to waste, as broken as it was. If nothing else, that weapon saved my life, in Poe's hands. And before then, any number of times." 

"I know," Snap tells him, with a serious look in his eyes. "So I figured… this was an appropriate next step. Given that it turns out you really _can't_ fix those crystals. Or… not without the Force, at least. Plus, I've _always_ wanted to see inside an actual lightsabre. I mean, who wouldn't?"

At this point, Jess pats him on the arm, rather more gently than she usually does. "Come along, Wexley, let's give these two a moment."

He takes the hint. "Sure thing. I'll see _you_ two back inside. If nothing else, I think Finn's playing Bastian and it's possible he's _winning_ , so I'm gonna watch."

And, with a nod to each of them, Snap heads off back towards the sounds of revelry, with Jess at his side.

She links arms with him as they go. Poe wonders, with a little grin, when _that's_ finally going to become a thing.

"You can shoot it again," Kylo says, when the other two have gone. "If you want to? Even at me…" He might have had a few drinks, but he's definitely still capable of freezing, deflecting, or sabreing away a bolt or two. 

"…I am not shooting at you, Kylo," is Poe's instinctive response, and then he laughs. "You know, again."

Even if it does bring back… memories, and… OK, try to think sensible thoughts, which is a little tricky given that he's had several glasses of that home-brew, and…

He squares up to the target and fires twice, in quick succession.

"It wouldn't _hit_ me," Kylo points out. "And then I could show off my skills some more." Yes, definitely the alcohol talking, now. The blaster does significant damage, and Kylo likes it even more. It gives Poe more of an edge, in battle, and seeing a non-Force-sensitive wielding any kind of sabre-hilt has to be an intimidation tactic of its own.

"…plus, I think we have some people wanting to watch…" He nods his head to where some pilots – not currently engaged in Pazaak – are lingering by the doorway to the hall. "I promise, I won't deflect at anyone – or thing – you don't want exploding." 

Not having realised they have an audience, Poe tries to look at least vaguely sensible, and not like he's been thinking about jumping Kylo round the back of the building. Or, contriving a way to get the man to jump _him_. And… Force-damn that home-brew…

"All right, then," he concedes, far too quickly. And… turns, backing off further before aiming at Kylo, and…

_…sensible thoughts, think sensible thoughts… very sensible thoughts…_

…he fires. Just once. For now.

Kylo's left hand lifts rapidly, and the bolt frazzles in the air between them. Hot, angry red. It crackles with repressed energy, somewhere half-way between them. A memory, and Kylo's eyes _glint_ in pleasure. 

Behind, from his further hip, he unhitches his weapon and twirls it into life. Left hand out – like a fencer in reverse – right hand behind and bathed in the sunset red of his family's lightsabre. "Is that all you have?" 

"I'm just getting started," Poe replies. His stomach still jumps a little at the sight of that lightsabre. It's almost too beautiful for words, filled with more history than seems possible for a single weapon.

And… then there's the blaster-bolt. The blaster-bolt in midair. It isn't blue this time, but it still seems so very familiar and…

…careful, Dameron, there's an audience…

He aims, and fires again: twice, this time. The first shot designed to come in just over the first, and the second at an angle, to make things trickier. Or… to show off more. Possibly also that.

The sabre swings through the air, catching them in order. The flash of red plasma so bright against the darkening sky, the hum steady and sure. The first bolt lands somewhere in the grass to the right of Poe, the other skitters out somewhere to fizzle across duracrete. 

Kylo brings the hilt to hold in both hands, in front of him, perfectly upright. "Really, this fight isn't fair." He de-ignites his blade, and tosses it over to Poe. "We should swap." 

Poe's hand goes up to catch it instinctively, and then he just sort of… freezes. Because… because… it's _Darth Vader's lightsabre_ , and… also it's hard enough to think with that one blaster-bolt still lingering in midair…

"…You remember the part where I don't have the Force, yes?" he manages, as he tosses the sabre-blaster over to Kylo.

"You managed stones. These are just… hot, intangible, death-stones. Made of energy." Kylo grins, twirling the old hilt in his hand, the weight slightly changed, but not so much that he can't master the balance of it by the second spin. 

"Don't you trust me?" Because he wouldn't let anything _hit_ Poe. "I did offer to train you, after all. My **Apprentice**." It's possible Kylo wouldn't be flirting so blatantly with others around if he wasn't intoxicated. 

Poe sparks the lightsabre into life with as much of a flourish as he can manage, which is actually more than he realises. "I trust you," he says, and he does. "I was just… checking."

And possibly winding you up slightly. Because of how well you respond to a little snark.

"Do it," he pushes. " _Master_."

Kylo levels the blaster, and shoots aiming somewhere six inches to the right of Poe's head, giving him adequate clearance to swing the bolt away without risking anything in the process. 

There's an audible gasp from the onlookers. 

Poe swings upwards, and is almost surprised when he feels the blade connect with the bolt, deflecting it harmlessly out into the night. And… fuck, but he's enjoying this a little too much. Doubly-so when several of their audience applaud.

Plus the balance on this sabre is just _perfect_. He squares up again, not wanting to drop his guard. "I can take more than _that_."

…Dameron, stop it.

"Oh, I know you can," Kylo says, and shoots again in that position, then lower down so he'll need to swing between both. He makes sure to leave enough of a pause so Poe can angle both up (or so he can catch one, if need be). 

Poe swings easily for the first, then has to move his footing to go for the second. He almost doesn't make it, but the sabre is a little smoother and lighter than he's used to, and the blade connects in a shower of sparks, sending the bolt ricocheting off into the night.

"Gotcha!" he exclaims.

Now there's definite cheering, and a few people leap to their feet. Kylo smirks, and cants his head to his lover. "Third time's the charm? Try to send it towards the one I'm still holding… try to destroy it." He paces a little to the side, so the angle will be easier to bat the bolt at a target. 

Easier, but still not eas _y_. Poe tries to look more confident than he feels. The cheering definitely helps with that, and it certainly explains the little flourish he makes with the blade before squaring up again.

"Give me your best shot."

Well, Kylo thinks, close enough. He's memorised the swings Poe makes, calculates the likely trajectory… and lines up the best volley of fire he can. Lightsabre red against lightsabre red, the bolt aiming for where the blade will _be_. He stands, waiting, **hoping** , and ready to intervene if necessary. 

And this time… it just happens. Poe's overthought it for these last few moments, but when Kylo fires, instinct takes over, and he swings more carefully, not just trying to deflect but to _aim_ , to _feel_ for where he wants the bolt to go.

It scorches through the air, hitting the second bolt still held between them, and causing both to explode in a shower of sparks.

The audience breaks into applause.

Kylo smirks, widely, and clicks the safety back on. "You're learning well, Apprentice of mine." He walks in closer, and grabs the pilot's shirt, yanking him up for a hungry, lustful kiss. There's something so very invigorating about watching Poe handle his blades – hilts – whatever… 

…it's possible someone wolf-whistles. Kylo doesn't even break the kiss. 

Poe just manages to deactivate the sabre before Kylo grabs hold of him, and then he's kissing the man back with all he's got. Not even thinking about the fact that people are watching. Though… awareness of the audience does at least stop him from trying to take this further.

For the time being, at least.

"Now _that_ was fun," he murmurs, as the kiss breaks. Not trying to step back even a little.

Kylo keeps hold of his shirt, chasing his lips, even without more kisses (yet). "We should stop, before I make everyone on the base listen to how loud you are," he tells him, with a strong note of how very, very much he'd like to. Right now. Right here. "Back inside?" 

" _Again_ , you mean?" Poe replies, with a wicked grin. "And yes, we should. We can continue _this_ later…"

And that, certainly, is a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's still more revelry to come! ;-)
> 
> As part of our commitment to realism (and nerdery), all the games of pazaak in this chapter - bar the very first one that Poe plays against Snap - were real. We literally sat with pencil, paper, a side-deck grid and a random number generator and played them all. So it really was chance..! ;-)


	45. Ante Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations, readers! We return with Pazaak Night Part Two, in which the boys - and girls - continue their off-duty fun, and in which _someone_ gets a welcome surprise...
> 
> We'll be back on Wednesday, as we continue to rebuild our chapter-buffer. But we promise it will be worth the wait. The next chapter... let's just say you don't want to miss it! ;-)

It's a short time later, and the atmosphere inside the squadron mess hall is tense.

 _Really_ tense. Almost everyone has gathered around the game that's still going on, in the centre of the room, stunned by what they're seeing. Lieutenant Bastian – second only to Snap when it comes to his legendary Pazaak abilities – is in the middle of a third-set showdown with his opponent.

Finn.

And now, with that six having appeared on the table, everyone is waiting to see if the young ex-trooper really does have a minus-two left in his hand. Because, if he does, it will clinch this.

The room goes silent.

"So…" Finn taps his finger on the side of his card, tongue flickering out over his lips. "I got one last card." He places it down, and then sits back.

For a moment, no one speaks. 

That perfect minus-two stares up at them all. The defeat in Bastian's eyes is palpable, though he takes it with grace. "Very nice, kid," he says, giving a little salute with his glass. "You should bottle that luck. We could make a killing!"

And there's rather a lot of applause, several of the other pilots clamouring to clap Finn on the back.

"Hey, it's beginner's luck," Finn demurs, gracious in his victory. He clinks glasses with Bastian, and squeezes Rey's hand on his shoulder. "Plus, I learned from the best."

Close by, Poe leans in to Kylo. "Looks like Finn made a friend," he remarks, pleased. "Several, it would seem."

"He seems to be skilled at the game, too," Kylo remarks. "And it's good if he's being adopted. He knew even less people on the base than I did." 

The Sith sips at his drink some more, enjoying the warm buzz in his head. He has his arm looped around his pilot, and he's happy how easy it feels, here. In front of people. How nice it is not to have to hide his emotional side – or connection. "What comes next?"

"Well, that depends," Poe replies. "Some nights, once the best of the Pazaak is done, everything sort of… filters off. But given the general mood… I think it might be safe to say that you ain't seen nothing yet…"

And he grins, tugging gently to get Kylo to sit down with him. There's several couches in the corner of the room, and he knows that if they settle on them…

"…Hope you two lovebirds aren't about to pass out on me." It's Snap, of course, with what looks suspiciously like a new bottle of Bastian's home-brew. Jess is with him, and Karé too, which means that Iolo can't be far behind.

"We're just getting started," Poe insists. "Come join us, if you dare."

Kylo pulls Poe to sit sideways on his lap, so they can make room for more people. Also so he can have Poe sit on his lap. He curls an arm around his waist, and drops his chin on his shoulder. "I might not be used to alcohol, but I'm sure I'm nowhere near done," he tells them. 

"Fighting spirit!" Jess exclaims, and then she leans in closer, speaking quickly – just for Poe and Kylo to hear – " _Watch this_."

And then she sits back, turning to Snap. " _Speaking_ of fighting spirit… you remember Idresar 2?"

"…Pava, I am not telling the Idresar story again."

"Whyever not? I like the colour you go when you do."

Poe catches on. "Oh, yes, you've gotta tell Kylo that one, it's great." Trying very hard not to laugh.

"Please, enlighten me. I am your guest, after all," Kylo says, picking up on Poe's undercurrent of excitement. Even without the Force, it would be palpable right now. "I've missed out on all of these stories. Poe doesn't like to blow his own trumpet."

" _It's more that you can't bend far enough to do it_ ," the Sith adds, where only Poe can hear. 

Poe gives Kylo a look that is _more_ than sufficient response to this, although it's a little more obvious than he would perhaps have liked. The only saving grace is that everyone is now distracted by the promise of the story in question.

The rest of them have heard it before, of course. But that's not the sole point of these things.

Snap, meanwhile, gives Jess a you're-supposed-to-be-on-my-side look, which gets him zero sympathy. On the contrary, Blue Leader's favourite wingwoman sits back, takes a sip of her drink, and flashes a smile over at Karé.

"Yes, go on, I like this one," Karé insists. "And you know how sorry I was to miss it."

"…No one's fooled, Karé," Snap says, looking between the two women and knowing he'd be outnumbered even _without_ the Sith Lord in the audience. "…OK. Fine. So…"

He leans in. "Idresar 2," he starts out, with a deliberate storyteller's air. All faux-serious, mixed with slightly drunk. Possibly more than slightly. "Second moon of Idresar itself, which is a _very_ large gas giant in the Torrian system. So, one day – only a couple of weeks after our dear new squadron leader joined the team, actually – we get word that the First Order has set up a refuelling station there. And, though they didn't know we were on D'Qar, it was within easy jumping distance, so… we wanted them gone. We _needed_ them gone."

"So… we get a plan of attack together. And then, early one morning, Poe gathers us all in and gives us a big speech about how _vital_ the mission is, and how so much depends on it, and how we all have to rely on each other to get it done."

Snap claps a hand to his chest, even more deadly serious. "It was beautiful."

"…It wasn't his best," Jess chips in, cutting through the mood. "Cyora Prime was better. And don't even get me _started_ on Starkiller…"

"…you should tell me the Starkiller story, after," Kylo tells Jess. "I would like to hear that one. From someone else's perspective…" 

"Get me a box, and I'll even do it with actions," Jess promises.

"…Was _that_ a quip about my height, Lieutenant?" Poe throws across.

" _Absolutely_ not, Commander."

Poe does not look convinced. Jess looks positively saintly.

No one is fooled. Especially because he _does_ usually stand on something when he's giving pep talks.

For effect.

Right.

"… _So_ , Idresar," Karé prompts, patting Snap on the arm.

" _Idresar_ , right," he says. "So, this particular attack run, I have a new astromech. I'd lost R8-H3 just the previous week – bastard TIE pilot fried all the electrics in the back of my X-Wing and took the poor astro out in the process – and so logistics had set me up with R1-J6 just a few days before Idresar. And… y'know, we hadn't quite done the bonding thing, yet. But he seemed competent and we'd worked fine on manoeuvres, so I wasn't worried." A beat. "I wasn't _too_ worried."

"…Didn't you try to persuade BB-8 to ask him if everything was OK?" Poe cuts in, smoothly.

"…Only on a whim, and I was being considerate. _So_ … off we go, all jumping into hyperspace, destination: _Idresar_."

Both women say the name at the same time as Snap, but in sotto-voce tones, as if they _might_ be doing it for effect but are _probably_ trying to wind him up.

"And then…" Snap leans in again, back to Ominous Storyteller Voice, "…there we are, with the gas giant filling half our field of view, and that moon hanging there in the blackness. And there's a whole swarm of First Order ships surrounding it. _Way_ more than we'd expected, or prepared for. We were outnumbered. Outgunned. And… they'd spotted us."

Kylo leans closer, arms tighter around the pilot in his lap. "I know you didn't die, but other than that…" It almost hurts, listening. Almost hurts like remembering childhood stories from his parents. But it's the good kind of hurt. 

Poe turns and kisses the side of Kylo's head. "Don't worry," he whispers, smiling. "This is a good story."

Of course it is. The bad ones… are kept for a different kind of night. Which this, mercifully, is not.

"Up ahead," Snap goes on, "we can see the first wave of fighters hurtling towards us. We're a good distance off, but – if we jump out now – there's every risk they might track us back to D'Qar. Our _only_ option is to take them down. And… that's when I realise that my astromech is flipping out. R1 comes over the comm, and he says it's all wrong, that it's not going to work, that something _terrible_ is going to befall us if action isn't taken fast."

Deathly silence. This, clearly, is the crucial part of the story, and even Jess doesn't interrupt.

"So I click the comm, and I tell him it's gonna be OK. Tell him we might be outnumbered, but we'll never be out _classed_. I tell him he might be new to this, but it doesn't matter if you're new or if you're an old hand, or anything in between. All you gotta do is _believe_ in what you're fighting for. And…"

Snap grins, almost embarrassed. "… _That's_ when it turns out that I've been mistaken about two things. One: the comm line I'm using isn't the internal one. It's the one that broadcasts to the whole squad. And, two: my astro is not flipping out. My astro is concerned about the power levels in the ship, and because my astro apparently subscribes to the C-3PO school of thinking, he'd… embellished the severity somewhat. And…"

"… _Then_ everyone else on the comm line applauded," Jess cuts in, beaming. "And I mean, seriously, they were cheering and everything."

"It was adorable," Poe sighs, deciding to go with the flow and lay it on thick. "I seriously thought about giving you pep-talk rights for the next month."

"And we won," Snap finishes, easily.

"Well, we were unstoppable after that," Jess points out.

"That's probably why you win most of your battles when you're not hideously out-classed," Kylo says, with a soft smile. "The troopers don't talk to one another, you know. And their equivalent of a pep-talk comes from General Hux. Who – let me tell you – thinks that calling someone 'efficient and effective' is tantamount to kissing their rear, and that's about as far as they get in the emotional buy-in…" 

"Damn straight," Snap agrees. "Even if I did get 'we might be outnumbered, but we'll never be out _classed_ ' quoted at me _everywhere_ for days afterwards."

"Sometimes with dramatic gestures," Jess reminds him.

"So is someone going to tell me the Starkiller story, or do I need to torture my fiancé in private for a rendition?" Kylo asks, with a spark in his eyes. 

Poe goes _all_ of the colours and suddenly becomes _very_ interested in his drink. His lovely, alcoholic drink that makes the thoughts go away. Or… just become more hazy. He manages to throw a " _Stop_ ," over their bond, but even his mental tone is less 'stop' and more 'ohpleasefuckyes' and this is not the time or the place.

"Please, we're all friends here, you don't have to do it in private," Jess says, with a positively _wicked_ grin.

"Do you _like_ the thought of Hoth, Lieutenant?" Poe manages.

"I don't know, Commander, do you? Is the idea of all that ice… helpful?"

"Jess!" Snap cuts in, sounding faux-horrified.

She pats him on the shoulder. "There, there, Wexley, you were thinking it too. _Now_. The Starkiller story. See, thing about the Starkiller story is it's all in the delivery. So…"

A long sip of her drink, and Jess slips into a very accurate rendition of Snap's Ominous Storyteller Voice. "…It was the morning of the attack. We'd only had our _dear_ commander back with us for two days, since his never-recanted-in-depth adventures on Eigengrau. And now… the time had come. We had to throw _everything_ we had into this mission, because Starkiller… well. There's dogfights and bombing runs, and then there's _Starkiller_."

"And then, that morning, we all gear up, ready to go," Jess continues. "People were nervous, way more than usual. How could they not be? Normally… the worst thing that can happen is you die. But Starkiller? We all knew that, if we fucked _that_ one up, whole _planets_ were going down. And that's just for starters."

The air is serious, now. Not melancholy, but serious.

"People were nervous. Some of them were worried about our commander's state of mind. Some of them weren't sure we could trust our new source of intel."

She tilts her glass in Kylo's direction, a silent acknowledgement that people don't think like that anymore. Only that they did, to begin with.

"And then… Poe gathers us all together. And… I swear, he did stand on a box for this part, but honestly, there were a _lot_ of us there. And then he just starts… talking."

It's suddenly clear from Jess' eyes that she means this in the nicest way possible.

"He said… we were standing on the brink of something. Something that would change the galaxy forever. Something that could save more lives than any of us could count."

"He said… some of us were still sceptical," Snap joins in, with the same serious tone. "That we weren't sure if we could trust where our intel was coming from, that we didn't know if we were flying into a trap. He said… all we had to do was trust _him_ , and that he knew we did, and that the rest would come in time."

"He said… it was our Death Star," Karé continues, leaning in too. "That sometimes the galaxy asks more of us than we think we know how to give. That… those are the times when we find out who we really are, but that – with us – he already knew the answer."

"He said," Jess concludes, "that we were the best damn pilots he'd ever met, and that, if anyone could do this… it was us." She smiles. "And he was right."

The Sith nuzzles at Poe's neck, arms oh-so-tight around him. He doesn't care if the others see him being a little too affectionate (because it's love, not lust, that drives it). "That's my Apprentice," he mumbles, with a kiss behind his ear. "And you did. You took it down. And you don't want to know how many people you saved, because the number is incomprehensible."

Poe goes rather pink again. Partly at the attention from Kylo, and partly because hearing the others talk about him like this… it reminds him just how damn much he loves them all. How _alive_ he felt, when he first came to join them. How he owes them so much more than merely his life.

"A point not lost on any of us," he says. "We knew the stakes. It was a perfect team effort. Even if this man," and he tilts his glass at Snap, "did get to fire the golden kill-shot."

Snap waves a hand. "Please. It was only me because _somebody_ was off _giving me a heart-attack_ at the time. Seriously, Dameron, when you took that hit, I couldn't _breathe_. Thank the Force Kylo got to you in time, and…"

He pauses, and headtilts, meeting Kylo's eyes now. "…Y'know, you've never told us what it was like on your side of things. I mean, we know you took the shield down, and we know how you got this maniac out in that TIE-Interceptor, but…"

A very hopeful look.

Kylo goes slightly pink, too. "Well. I was supposed to stay there, undercover. That was my plan. Force Snoke to face me, and end him. Which… I should probably be glad it failed. He would have likely ripped me to shreds, and made me even… even worse."

The only saving grace would have been Poe never facing him, he thinks, but it's too late to consider what-ifs. "I used Hux's logon. He's not as secure as he thinks he is, especially not around me. Even changing his protocols and passcodes regularly is no use against me." 

Perhaps he shouldn't tell everyone that. 

"It was all going fine, and I even covered my tracks by making it look like glitches, that had been covered up. So they would take time to look through access logs to realise it had happened under Hux's credentials. And then I felt – I felt Poe go down. Through the Force. And I – ah--" A clearing of his throat. "Hux noticed me running, and he challenged me. So I… kind of lost my head, and I punched him. I think I broke his nose. Probably should have killed him, but I wasn't thinking straight. I ran to the nearest hangar, and took the smallest thing with a hyperdrive: the Interceptor."

Kylo now speaks a little less confidently. "I can't fly, which you might already know. So I… sort of… gunned the engines and tried not to hit anything, and then I cut them and used the Force and the snow to crash-land with minimal damage. It was probably the worst landing anyone's ever done. And I wasn't really – I wasn't _thinking_ , I just… knew I had to go save him. No matter what. And no matter what… welcome I got." 

The three pilots listen in obvious interest, none of them interrupting or even really moving until Kylo falls silent. When he does, it's Jess who speaks first. "You seriously flew a _TIE_ despite not knowing _how_ to fly? That's pretty damn impressive."

"I'll second that," Snap agrees. "Poe's only let me in that thing once, but the controls are so responsive they make an _A-Wing_ look clunky. And… as to the whole part about the welcome…" Serious face again. "…Yes, people were nervous at first. Some of 'em were scared. Honestly… that's understandable. But that was before. And now… well. Now you're family."

Pilot-family. Which is not the same as blood-family, but is – to these people – at least as important. More important, in some cases.

"It wasn't so much 'flying' as 'make it go high and out the hangar bay doors, and then skim it along like a stone on water, whilst trying not to explode'," Kylo says. "I knew in theory, it's just… I'm… nervous. In a cockpit. I nearly crashed the _Falcon_ – even managed to break the autopilot – which apparently is supposed to be impossible, but I did it anyway, and Han – my father – is not the **best** teacher when you're nervous…"

He swallows, and grabs a glass, to glug some more alcohol down at the 'family' comment. "I… appreciate that. I suppose I am marrying into it. It's… a nice family to be part of, though I still want to see Poe's father, sometime soon…"

"Hah, you and me both!" Snap replies, smart enough to lighten the mood again. "I mean, seriously… in my head, I just imagine it being like there's two of them."

Poe laughs. "Well, then you're gonna be surprised. I… am more like my mom than my dad. Though I promise I will try to get him here when things calm down."

He's been able to brush it off before, but he can't now. Not given that he's engaged – and engaged to the son of Leia Organa and Han Solo, no less.

"You mean you haven't even met him?" Kylo asks Snap, surprised. "I thought you'd have… I mean…" Kylo is just sure everyone else knows everyone else. That's how the Republic and the Rebellion used to work, anyway. 

Snap shakes his head. "Nope, not yet. I know quite a few of the others have – y'know, the ones who near enough grew up on base, but I was pretty late coming to the Resistance."

"And by that point, my dad was dead-set on staying on Yavin 4," Poe completes. "Where the rest of us haven't been in quite some time."

"I see. So you… both joined late?" Kylo asks of Poe, and Snap. "Why doesn't anyone volunteer this information, and makes me interrogate it out of them?" 

Poe just about manages not to say, " _You enjoy interrogating it out of me_ ," out loud. Unfortunately, it does still slip down the bond, for which he is entirely blaming the alcohol.

Perhaps luckily, Snap seems to take the remark as an invitation. "What, Poe never told you?" he says. "Yeah, I was a latecomer to the Resistance. Wasn't sure if I completely agreed with it, at first. I mean, don't get me wrong, I _never_ liked the First Order, and… look. I'm Akivan. We spent a lot of time caught between the Empire and the Rebellion, being fed the good _and_ the bad of each. My dad was arrested as a Rebel spy when I was a kid, and we never saw him again, and my mom was a Rebel pilot, which meant _I_ rarely saw _her_ , and… I sorta raised myself, most of the way. And I blamed the Rebellion for a heck of a lot, for too long, and…" He sighs, obviously aware he's getting a little serious, and looks up, brighter again. "…And then I realised that sometimes you have to make the hard choices, because of what you really believe underneath. And I realised that my dad had done that, and my mom, and so, eventually… I did too."

He holds his hands out. "And now, here I am. And the only thing I regret is not doing it sooner."

"It doesn't matter how late you do it, so long as you do it," Kylo reminds him. "Case in point." The glass he's nursing is pushed forwards, to clink against Snap's. 

"Now who is going to tell me things I can tease my pilot about?" The Sith drowns the end of the question in another long slug. He's feeling far too relaxed, and if he were sensible, he'd realise that this might not entirely be a good idea. 

"Oh, I'm sure we can think of a few," Karé agrees, and leans back. "Hey, Iolo, come help me tell the Malastare story!"

Poe facepalms. This is not going to end well.

***

It doesn't. Things become progressively more lively over the next hour, and it's around about the third rendition of _The Young Lady From Dantooine_ – damn Bastian for being able to sing so well – that someone (Poe is not sure who) suggests having mock lightsabre duels.

Snap – ever the enabler – quickly locates the pair of makeshift staves he and Poe used to practice that night in the forest, which means things quickly degenerate into 'Who wants to have a mock-lightsabre duel with Captain Wexley?'

Apparently the answer to this is 'Finn'. Which is why Poe is now drinking rather more heavily and trying to work out how all of this has ended up with his best friend and their former Stormtrooper having a stick-fight up on the room's longest table.

Bastian is running a pool on the outcome. So far the odds are surprisingly level. Poe is also vaguely aware that this isn't the only pool being run tonight, though he is at least smart enough not to ask about any of the others.

Sometimes it is best not to know.

"Keep your guard up," Kylo calls out, when one of them gets particularly sloppy. "Remember if this was real, you could lose more than your pride."

"Remind me never to fight _you_ ," Finn says, between some overly-enthusiastic clashes. He almost steps into someone's glass, but one of the Force-users pulls it away without him knowing.

"Generally the wisest plan, if you're around a Force-sensitive," Kylo agrees. He has his fingers in Poe's hair. Poe, who is lying on his back, on the couch, with his head on Kylo's knee. He teases through curls, and beams down at him. "Present company excepted," he murmurs to his lover. 

"Oh, it's still wise not to," Poe replies. He has to keep sitting up every now and then to drink, but it's too lovely not to keep lying back down. Because. Kylo. "It's just, sometimes you have no choice, because of reasons, or you do it anyway in case it provokes other things, and… _come on, Wexley, like you mean it!_ "

It is not heckling. It is not. It is constructive criticism.

Or… commander-ly encouragement.

Or something.

"Later," Kylo promises, with fire in his eyes. Definitely later. Poe is now on about seven different promises, and Kylo is probably on eight. Not that he's keeping track, or anything. He hums, low and happy.

It's just nice. Everything is nice. Sort of weirdly bright without hurting, and like he can feel the planet's rotation around its star. Nice. He keeps thinking that word, like it's a glitched holo-record repeating the same few things. 

Finn hollers for Rey to back him up, and yells a 'Come on!' when she outright refuses. 

"That's cheating," Kylo points out. 

Poe beams up at him. "You seem… good," he says. "I mean… you know… _good_ -good. Not morally, or Light, or so on. Just… good."

Possibly he is not explaining himself so well. "It's nice." Apparently they agree on that word, at least.

But… it is. Everything is so normal, and they're all here, and it's all…

 _Right_.

"Happy-good? Like… right-good? Not… choice-good?" Kylo is just as eloquent, right now. He bends down and boops his nose to Poe's. "I think… I am. It's…" and he does laugh, then. "It's nice. Being here. With you. And them. Mostly you, but them as well." 

One middle finger winds a thick, soft curl around and around and around and around. "I never thought I could. I mean. Even come back, let alone… be this. Be here. Have… all of this. A life. A home. A family. A… purpose. A **you**." It's clear the last is the most important of all. 

"Well… you do," Poe says, softly. "You have all of it." He grins. "Me, especially. But… the rest, too. You belong here, and I'm not the only one who knows it."

He reaches up, and holds on. " _Also_ ," he says, intelligently, "I think you might be slightly drunk. I think _I_ might be slightly drunk. Slightly."

"How can you tell?" Kylo asks, his tone over-exaggerated. "I'm not drunk. Not at all. _You're_ drunk. I'm Shith." A frown. A wiggle of nose. "Shith. SITTTTH." 

"I can tell because I know these things," Poe insists, sagely. "And you can be both. And I'm a Sith too – sort of – and _I'm_ drunk – slightly – so it must be true."

The second this abomination of a sentence comes to a halt, Poe sits quickly upright, stares in the direction of the ongoing duel, and calls out, "Come on, Finn, kick his ass!" before immediately lying back down.

"…What? I'm playing both sides," the pilot insists, perhaps defensively.

"Very Grey of you," Kylo says, approvingly. "What we should really do is… is find a way for them both to win." He peers over, and snorts as Snap does something that would likely take his ear off if he had a real sabre. 

"…what if I make them both float?" 

" _Kylo_ ," Poe replies, faux-aghast. "That would be _interfering_." He looks over at the duel, and then back up at his boyfriend. "You should do that," he decides, with absolute certainty. "You should definitely do that. Just a little. To see how they react."

Kylo's free hand lifts, and so do the two combatants. A few inches off the ground, but still they wobble into the air.

"What the--?" Finn treads water, legs windmilling as he tries to get back onto the table.

The Sith starts to giggle, very quietly, and looks utterly unashamed by his actions. 

Snap's eyes immediately seek out his commander and his commander's extraordinarily powerful fiancé. "Kylo, that's _cheating_!" he insists, trying to reach up to the ceiling with the stick he's holding, in some kind of attempt to push himself back down.

Poe laughs rather more. "No, no, it's fine, he's doing it to both of you so you're still even!" he insists, with the kind of logic that only applies when you're drunk.

And a teeny bit evil.

"Yeah, but we can't _move_ ," Finn launches, voice full of accusation. 

"So maybe you should concede the fight as one of equal victory?" Kylo suggests.

"You mean, a tie?" Finn rolls his eyes. "Why you gotta make everything sound like it's some mystical Force stuff?"

"I could make you fight with the Force and have it all be terribly metaphysical if you like." Kylo shrugs. "Or you could kiss and make up and get more drunk."

"You better mean metaphorical kissing!" Snap manages.

"…Kylo, do put them down," Poe says, sounding _thoroughly_ unconvincing. Somehow finding a way not to laugh when he does.

"Platonic friends can kiss," Kylo says, with mischief in his eyes. "What's wrong, Snap? Never kissed a man on the cheek?"

"…Only once, and it was in the heat of the moment!" Snap insists. "Also it was the forehead. Also, shush!"

Finn laughs. "Anyway, I'm spoken for. And Rey would kick my ass. But I can do cheek-kissing, right, Rey?" 

"Oh, you can do more than cheek-kissing," is Rey's response. She looks thoroughly amused by the whole affair, and more than a little drunk herself.

"No one is questioning your sexuality if you kiss someone in a friendly manner," Kylo points out, and then drops them both gently to their feet. "But I'm sure Finn would also be appeased with a handshake and a back-pat?"

The ex-trooper is still looking at Rey, some silent communication going on, but then he jerks back to here and now. "Yep. Back-clapping sounds good. Come here…" 

Obviously relieved to be back on solid ground – OK, solid table – Snap moves in for the handshake, takes Finn's hand… and then, all of a sudden, grabs hold of the man and dips him right back before he can react, as if he _is_ going to kiss him. He doesn't, though, and pulls Finn back upright almost as quickly, before shaking his hand properly, a positively wicked grin on his face.

"Nice moves, kid," he says, brightly.

It takes quite a while for the applause to die down.

Finn laughs, clearly not at all upset by being manhandled. He may well be used to it, by now. He slaps Snap on the arm, and beams from ear to ear. "If I had to kiss a guy – and, you know, you did something about this?" He gestures at the fuzz around Snap's face. "I like 'em smooth." 

"I think we've heard enough about your sex-life," Kylo hollers, over yet more wolf-whistles.

"Just trying to keep up with you two," Finn replies, just as fast. He bounces off the table, and goes over to Rey. 

"I'll see _you_ later," Snap calls after him, and hops down from the table looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

Poe grins up at Kylo some more. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about them falling off the tables any time soon…" he remarks. Not that he'd looked all that worried before.

Although… if this is the way the night is going, perhaps he _should_ be worrying about where it might end up…

***

It's late. Or possibly early. Maybe both.

In the squadron mess hall, everyone is silent, the revelry of the night having finally reduced down to this: to a showdown that has long been on the cards.

Literally and metaphorically.

They're all gathered around the central table, some still drinking, some too stunned by what they're watching to be able to do anything but _stare_.

This moment was destined to transpire. They all knew it. None of them are surprised and – at the same time – none seem quite able to believe that it's finally about to happen.

At the central table, two players are locked in the most involved game of pazaak any of them can remember. It's the tie-breaking final set of three and – with one win each – everything comes down to this. And has come down to this, three times already. Twice, they've both forced a tie on nineteen, and last time around, they forced it on twenty.

And now, surely, something has got to give.

If nothing else… they're about to run out of clothes. Precisely whose idea it was to play Nar Shaddaa rules, no one is quite sure. Or no one dares say. None but the bravest would risk suggesting Strip-Pazaak on a night like this.

And here they are: Snap Wexley and Jess Pava, down to their underwear, and neither one of them even _blinking_.

Snap draws… and lays the card on the table. A six. The room holds its breath, and then he lays down a minus-two from his hand.

"Twenty," he says, sounding _very_ pleased with himself. "I stand."

Jess narrows her eyes, reaches, and draws. She's already on seventeen, but her only option is to play to win. The room holds its breath again as Jess – without yet revealing the card – looks at what she's drawn.

"…You don't have it," Snap says, meeting her eyes, in the light of his own perfect twenty.

Jess' expression doesn't change. She flips the card so they can all see, and lays it down.

It's a three. Another perfect twenty. The audience doesn't dare say a word.

"I have it," Jess replies, so very smoothly.

"We tie again."

"So it would seem."

Snap headtilts. "Perhaps we're destined to carry on this dance forever."

"Or… perhaps we need a different kind of tie-breaker," Jess tells him.

And then – moving _very_ fast – she stands up, reaches over the table, slides a hand behind Snap's head and pulls him in to kiss. _Hard_. And there is _nothing_ platonic about _that_ kiss.

For a second, no one dares make a sound. And _then_ there's quite a lot of applauding, and cheering, and whoops of delight.

"About damn time!" Poe calls over, as the two pilots pull back from the kiss, only to throw themselves into a second one.

"Is this how nights normally end?" Kylo asks, also grinning. The elation in the room is electric, intoxicating in its own right. So many happy people in one room that he can't actually remember being around so much of it. "Because – if they keep their hands off you – I could manage this again."

Poe turns and wraps around him. "This night was particularly special," he says. "But… yeah, they usually end well."

Not quite _this_ well. Poe's confident he's been waiting for Snap and Jess to work _that_ whole thing out since the day he first met them both. So seeing it finally happen really is special. He grins some more, and rests his head against Kylo's chest. "Maybe it's you. Maybe you're some sort of Force-powered aphrodisiac."

"As long as they don't hump my leg, then I'm happy to help play matchmaker for your friends," Kylo says, hand back in his hair and following the lines of his skull that always get Poe purring. "But I'm going to want some time using my magic powers on _you_ , before you pass out…" 

His other hand high up on Poe's thigh, thumb grazing at him insistently. "Do we have to wait until they finish making out, or can we make our apologies before they do?" 

"…I think our work here is done," Poe answers, brightly. "Perhaps now would be a sensible time to slip out into the night… and in the direction of our quarters. So you can give me a good, long reminder of all those powers of yours…"

Kylo scoops Poe up in his arms, holding him against his chest, and snaps his mouth shut just above his. "I'm taking my pilot home," he tells anyone who is listening. "Thank you for a lovely evening, but we're really very tired."

And fooling no one.


	46. Over The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back, people. We have a rather huge chapter for you today. And, we're gonna level with you, this one is probably going to provoke some reactions. Either you saw this coming a mile off, or it's going to take you by surprise.
> 
> We highly recommend you read this part in one go. We'll meet you at the end...

Kylo insists on carrying Poe back all the way to their little quarters. He also insists it isn't showing off. The path isn't particularly straight, as he keeps wobbling a little, and they snicker then shush one another quiet, with shushes louder than the initial noise. 

By the time he gets him to the door, Kylo's face is flushed pink and he's trying to pin Poe against it, and open it with barely any free hands. 

"…could you… yes… and…?" 

Poe manages to get the door open with more ease than seems appropriate, leaving them able to head inside, the door swishing shut behind them. And…

"…Now _that_ was a good night," he says, happily.

Kylo can't help but agree, kissing him fiercely and biting a happy little trail, punctuated with growls, across Poe's lips. 

"How many promises are you on, now?" Kylo asks, gripping him tighter and walking in the direction of their bedroom. "And how many times do you think you can manage before you black out for good, for the night?"

"Nine," Poe answers, relatively confident he's right. "And… as to the second part, that would depend on how _rough_ with me you decide you want to be. And…" He grins. He is definitely drunker than he thinks he is. "…I like it when you're rough with me, so… there's that…"

"Somebody kept making noises of 'won't you stop asking me where the Resistance Base is'…" Kylo says, dropping him down onto the bed, and immediately clambering on top of him. Hands, knees, and hair that falls down to curtain them both off from the world. 

"Is it about time I found out your deepest, darkest secrets?" He asks it with lightness in his tone, testing the water before anything else. It's quite one thing to roleplay, but when it's actually been a legitimate part of your past – and your _shared_ past – it's more delicate than it is for most. 

Poe's eyes go dark, and he's suddenly – almost painfully – aware of the thrum of his own heartbeat. Not so much at being pinned like that, but… at Kylo's words. At the weight lurking just beneath them, the threat and the promise. The _history_.

"What makes you think I'll tell you _anything_?" he declares, going for broke.

Kylo's own eyes flash, and the Force grabs Poe's wrists, yanking them above his head, holding them in place. A blanket of pressure – enough to stop him from wriggling, but not so much it's uncomfortable – settles over his whole torso. And Kylo… his _teeth_ flash in his own, feral smile.

"Oh, you'll tell me everything. And you'll beg me to take even more, and there will be nothing left to **give** me, but you'll wish there were, so…" a single finger, stroking up and from between his collarbones, over his throat, into the soft space under his jaw. "…so I continue to pay attention to you. To _notice_ you." 

It's hard not to react to being pinned like that. Anyone would. It's one thing to have someone physically hold you down, but it's quite another to have them do it with the Force. To know that you can't resist it, that you can't struggle free or try to fight the person holding you. It's even harder not to react when you happen to find the act mind-blowingly hot, but are trying to give the impression that you don't.

Poe tries to struggle regardless. Just to feel how impossible it is. And… as some desperate last-ditch way of hiding his reaction to the other man's words.

"You'll always notice me," he declares, soft and sure, even though he feels so very vulnerable like this. "Since the first time you looked at me… you haven't looked away. Not _really_."

"That's true. But how deep inside you have I looked?" Kylo asks, and he presses a short nail into sensitive skin. A lowering of himself onto Poe's lap, and a slow, sensuous slide against him. 

His hand moves, and it circles his throat. Squeezes, lessening blood-flow, and oxygen. Keeping him a little dizzy, a little breathless. Another slow, slow rock of himself against his restrained lover, and his free hand hovers near his temple. 

"The question is: do I go straight inside, and take the last bits of resistance from you, or do I make you dance on the edge whilst I play your pleasure and pain like a musical instrument? Crescendo, diminuendo? Do I peak you, only to wrack you, and do it all again? Or do I simply _take_ you, take all of you, and hollow out the last parts of you to put myself in there instead?" 

Poe's heart is _racing_ now, not so much from the physical assault – though that is part of it – but predominantly from the threat. From the knowledge that the other man really _can_ do everything he's saying, and the echoing knowledge that there is no way to stop it.

The helplessness is mind-blowing; terrifying and wonderful in equal measure.

"I am _not_ afraid of you," he declares. Which is a lie. "I won't give you a damned _thing_." Which, whilst technically not a lie, is also not true.

"You will give me _everything_ ," Kylo promises. "And you will thank me, afterwards, for taking it." And it's only because he knows – in the deepest part of him – that Poe craves it, that Poe **longs** to be known, to be important, to be understood… that's it, isn't it? Not a need for the spotlight, so much as a need to be completely, utterly understood. Not a need to be violated, not in the traditional sense. He wouldn't want just anyone to slip into his darkest corners, he wants _Kylo_ to be the one to do it.

So he does. He slams his hand over Poe's forehead – the touch making it easier – and he forces himself through layer after layer. A steady, pulsing, pounding impact that is impossible to resist. And the deeper he goes, the less Poe even _tries_. It goes from bright, drunken present need, through emotionally loud and sometimes painful memories, through hopes and fears and desires until he's somewhere so far down he's not sure which way is back out. 

Perhaps it's the Bond they share, but Kylo realises there's no walls around their thoughts, not in this instant. Poe's given way, and Kylo has, too. He smiles, and it's like standing in a bright, circular room. Memories – shared, singular, distant, recent – flit around, like the 'present' of each moment plays in sequence across the walls of the room. 

And there's Poe. Standing facing him. Kylo is holding his hand.

"I've never seen anything like this before," he says, in no small amount of wonder. It's like their minds are trying to process it visually, and there's a sudden yellow-orange flash of lightning spreading across one wall, chased and interwoven with a more red-orange one. "Do you think that's us? I mean… all of this?" 

Poe jumps back, not remotely sure what's going on, his mind merely reacting to the sense of being able to move again. Or… thinking he can, at least.

"…What did you do?" he says, trying to suppress a sudden wave of panic. It's so real. Too real. Too…

He turns, left and right, the movement quick and sharp, trying to get some bearing on the situation and finding it impossible. Back to Kylo, the only fixed point in all of this.

"Where are we?"

"Inside your head. I think. And mine, too." Kylo points as on one wall there's a Wookiee leaning down and down and down over a small sense of self, and then a smothering of being lifted up.

Another wall, and it's Poe's mother. She's clearly giving Poe a ride on her shoulders, and there's the sound of a starfighter engine being mimicked by a tiny voice.

Another, and around it the two flickering, intertwining lights play around the tableau: two men curled up beside an oasis. Seen from both eyes at once, making the picture into one you-me-both whole. 

"I pushed in as far as I could go. I didn't realise this could happen. I've seen memories before, but never… never like this. I thought I was just going to snap something and you tell me something secret. But now I'm wondering if there even _is_ anything secret left. I know you. I know who you are. I know what you want. Is there anything else I even need to know?" 

It's… almost too much. Poe tries to process it but he can't, not quite, and slipping from where he was to… wherever this is… even though it isn't…

"No," he says, softly, the words the only thing he can really latch onto. "You have it all. You've had it all, since… since the last test on Eigengrau."

There's nothing more. Just this. Just him.

"You kept telling me to push in deeper, and I always refused. I thought… I thought I shouldn't. I thought you were owed one last place to be yourself, in private," Kylo explains. "And I didn't want to smash your mind into pieces, in an attempt to control you, or own you."

Fear for Poe's safety had always come first. He puts a hand on Poe's cheek, the gesture making the room brighter with affection, adoration. "But the only thing being held back was me. Me, refusing to look at what you laid open. Refusing, because I thought me going there would make you Dark, would hurt you. But now I'm here. And I see _all_ of you. And it's beautiful, Poe. Even your darkest, most obscene desires. You are beautiful. And you are **mine** , all the way inside, just as I'm yours." 

He leans in to kiss him, and the room fades around the kiss. It's still there – inside – vibrant and glowing and Dark as well as Light. But it's like an awareness, instead of a vision. Kylo pulls back from the kiss and pulls out the chain he wears – always has – around his neck. Two rounded tags: a pilot, a leader. Poe's. 

"Tell me a secret," Kylo insists, and waits for Poe to comply. 

A secret. It seems like an easy request. When someone – someone you trust deeply – asks for a secret, what do you tell them? Something they don't know. Something you'd _like_ for them to know. Or… something you trust them with, that you wouldn't share with anyone else. Maybe something that isn't good, but is still true, and you tell them not for the secret itself, but to prove how much you trust them with it.

But… Kylo already has all of Poe's secrets. All his _real_ secrets. Some came to light in screaming and snarking. Some in stolen moments between life-or-death experiences. Some in laughter, some in tears, some in terror, some in hope. Some… in the last test on Eigengrau.

Some were acknowledged. Some… are just known.

All of them are true.

What can he tell? What can he tell, that Kylo doesn't know? The man knows his desires. Knows his heart. Knows the pain he still carries since his mother's death, the fear that his father first spoke of; that it was all for nothing. Knows the joy and rapture he finds in flying, the desperate need to keep his people, his allies, his _pilots_ safe.

Knows the mistakes that weigh on him. The unshakeable certainty that he failed his run against the Starkiller, even though they still won the day. The guilt at knowing he was the one who took Kylo back to Snoke, even though the man would have found another way if he'd refused. The _fear_ that he is somehow not quite worthy to walk in the world in which he now finds himself.

The quiet pride in his accomplishments. He brought back the intel that took Starkiller down, before a single planet could be threatened. He brought Kylo home to his family, not once, but twice, and helped him reconnect with them.

He did those things. Good and bad, right and wrong, light and dark.

So what's left?

What else, but the thing that has been there since the very start? Before the jungle, before the truth, before the answers, before any of it.

The one thing he won't say, because it's too much, and because there's too much good in Kylo, and because it crosses lines that literally broke them both.

_Go on. Go on. Do it._

"Sometimes," he answers, very softly, "I want you to go further than you should."

Kylo does not want to do that. Kylo has never wanted to do that. There have always been some things he's held sacred, inviolate. Internal rules, checks, protests. Starkiller had been one such thing, one thing that he'd been desperate to prevent. Even to the point of spilling the secret of it to a man he'd only just met.

Another – the corruption, or abuse of innocents. The warping of infants. He would never, ever do that. Not ever. And – perhaps knowing it would be the death of Kylo, the end of his control over his protégé – Snoke had never asked.

And this, the third thing. Which Poe knows Kylo has never wanted, in the same way that Kylo knows Poe _has_ wanted. A boundary, a line of respect, a promise to not do to Poe what had been done to him. A promise to keep him _safe_ , in every respect. To shelter him, protect him, and cherish him. 

But maybe breaking is a protection of its own. On Eigengrau, he'd tried to show him the barest flicker of what breaking _was_. A watered-down version of what he knew Snoke was capable of. It had been awful, and it had made him more convinced that he was nothing like Snoke. He'd done it, when asked, with permission. And he'd still not gone far enough to really prepare Poe for what Snoke later did. Not that anything could really ever help someone who didn't have the Force from shattering under his will… 

Kylo nods, eyes on him. There is already a word. There is already a way out. And he knows Poe doesn't want to be made to use it, not really. He also knows Poe would probably sooner die than use it, after asking for this. Which means he has to know – intimately – without a flicker of a doubt – when it's _enough_. His hands let go, and he's off him and on the floor with his hand back around Poe's throat to lift him from the bed. Lift him, chokingly, and make eye-contact.

" _Ready_?" he asks, and then he throws Poe with the Force until his head smacks into the wardrobe. Fierce, violent, but loving. He doesn't _want_ to do this, but Poe needs him to. 

" _Never_ ," is Poe's answer, soft and sure; a 'yes' by any other name. Consent, certainly, if not _readiness_. Because how can you be ready for something like this? How, when every fibre of your being – bar one – screams out that you shouldn't, that it's bad, that it's wrong, that it's dangerous?

How else? By listening to that other, single fibre of being that screams out for something very different. The one you're not supposed to listen to.

The one that _good men_ **don't have**.

The impact hurts, and it's dizzying enough to be pulled suddenly from that shared mental space, never mind thrown halfway across the room. Poe staggers, struck by the sudden thought that he's made a _terrible_ mistake.

Kylo Ren – even unmasked, even unhooded – _looms_. It's impossible not to. He stands above him, and gazes down. "You're not prepared for this, for me." 

Another sweep of his arm, and he sends Poe flying to the other side of the room. This time, it's his hip that impacts. Kylo is making damn sure that all he's doing is hitting high-nerve-concentration areas. Maximum impact, minimal damage. It's a very, very difficult game to play: threatening and offering the deepest illusion of danger, all the while orchestrating it to be anything **but**. Back to the first wall, tossing him about like he's just a flimsy sheet on a high wind. He does it enough to make Poe dizzy from it, and then throws him up and slams him into the ceiling, keeping him in place. 

"Is that…" Poe chokes out, "…the best you can do?"

He's got to hope it is, because it _fucking hurts_. And he can't fight it. And that sense of helplessness… he usually _loves_ it. Loves feeling overwhelmed, loves feeling overpowered. Loves the sense of being caught by someone _stronger_.

Loves losing himself in Kylo's will, subsumed and held.

_Something is wrong_.

Something is wrong, and he can't work out what.

Kylo drops him from the ceiling, onto the mattress. Face-first, and he kneels over his thighs. A hand in his hair, yanking his head back. "You know it isn't. You know I can make everything **burn**." A heat-sensation, everywhere. Like Jakku sands, dialled way past the max. He keeps his head up, and then slams back into it.

" _I've got you_ ," even as he scratches loudly in his mind, the thoughts like fingernails scraped over unglazed porcelain. " _I've got you. It's me. It's me under here. It's me. You're safe. Let **go**_." 

Kylo doesn't want to do this, not at all. But what Kylo does want is to make Poe happy, and that is stronger than any inclination otherwise, and he's okay. It's okay. He knows he cares too much for it to really do any damage.

" _Think about the map_ ," he says, and slams into his head like he did on the _Finalizer_. 

For the first few seconds, all Poe can do is scream. Because it hurts, because _he_ hurts, because how can you not, when someone _this_ powerful does something like that to you? He tries to fight it, and then he remembers that you can't, and then he tries to just _give_ underneath it. To surrender, to sink.

But… he can't.

_Something is **wrong**._

"…S-stop," he gasps, when he can breathe again.

Kylo lets the pain seep out as quickly as he can, and he lets go of his hair, and he sits back on his haunches. "…" There's a word, but it doesn't come. Instead, he withdraws almost entirely from his mind. Just the flicker of presence there, so he doesn't feel abandoned. There's no pressure behind it, just contact.

"Poe… did… did I… was I wrong?" He sounds worried, but not offended in the slightest. "What can I do?" He climbs carefully off him, and stays immediately by his side. 

"I… I shouldn't… I… _fuck_ ," Poe starts, but he can't quite get the words out, and as soon as he's no longer pinned down, he tries to back off. "I should never have tried to…"

_I should never have tried to make you do this_.

Some part of him wants to run. He doesn't, but it's a close thing.

Kylo gently holds out a hand, but doesn't presume to force contact, just offer it. "It's okay. It's okay. I wouldn't, if I wasn't prepared to, Poe. I thought you needed it. I thought you wanted it, so I was… I was just doing what you wanted. I wasn't… I wasn't trying to _hurt_ you. It's okay. Please… look at me?" 

For about five seconds, Poe is absolutely sure he's going to run for it. Only… then, instead, he turns and throws his arms around Kylo and holds on, burying his face in the other man's neck.

"I _do_ want it," he chokes out. Because… he does. He wasn't lying when he said that, to either of them. "I do. But… **you don't**. And sometimes… sometimes I forget…"

…that you've been made to do things you didn't want for far too long.

"But it's okay," Kylo insists, holding him tight. "It's okay, because you aren't **making** me." He's still somewhat inside Poe's mind, so he can fill in the spaces that aren't spoken aloud. "You want, and I offered. If I said no, would you have insisted?"

He kisses at his jaw, just little, soft touches. "I said no plenty. And I meant it when I said it. Every time you asked me to go further and I refused… you never once got upset with me. I wasn't ready. I… was sure it would make me like him. But I'm not like him. I'm nothing like him. And I can do things that aren't – that are… not what I would want for myself, but I would want for _you_. And I can be happy that it makes **you** happy. Because I'm free to make that decision, for myself. And maybe I need to do it, even if I don't particularly have a craving for it. Maybe I need to do it – like on Eigengrau – to banish that shadow once and for all. To say this is _not_ the same thing, because it isn't. Because either one of us can say **stop** , and we _will_." 

Poe just holds onto him for a long moment. He's shaking bodily, going cold as ice inside, and the feelings that keep rising up are… familiar, and unwelcome, and bad, and he needs them _out_.

"I won't push you," he whispers. "I won't… be that. I'll do anything you want, _anything_ , but I won't ever be…"

"I know," Kylo says, and kisses his temple, and slips further into his head. A reassuring presence, first and foremost. To settle him down. "I know you won't. I trust you. And you know – when I do what _I_ do – that no matter how close to that line we walk? How near the edge we feel? It's the edge. And there's a line. Inside both of us. We won't _hurt_ one another. Not – not that kind of hurt. I trust you. And you trust me."

A firmer glide through his thoughts, a heavier pressure. "You are not him. I am not him. And we are more than what's been done to us. We are _us_. And this is _not_ wrong, Poe. **We** are not wrong. Let me show you."

But he waits. He waits, because he's not even going to attempt to try again unless Poe consents and means it. 

Relaxing is not easy, not now, but Poe tries to do it. Tries to breathe, to push down the panic, to let Kylo's words soothe him. "I trust you," he whispers, and he does.

He really does. It's _himself_ he doesn't trust. Not because he's underhanded, but because sometimes he gets carried away with what he wants. He'll chase a thrill too far. It's one thing when he's behind the controls of a ship, but quite another when it concerns someone else. Someone he loves more than anything.

"I trust you," he says, again, a little calmer this time. "But I would die before I pushed you into doing something you truly didn't want."

"I want to make you happy," Kylo insists. "And if it's what you need to be happy, then I'll do it. If you didn't want it – I won't lie – I wouldn't consider it. But… if you need it, even on the slightest level… I'd give it to you. I promised you all of me, Poe. Because I trust you to _have_ all of me."

More kisses, and hands that slowly map out his skin, trying to make him feel more at home in it, again. "It is your call." The irony of it is not lost on him. Poe gets to decide if Kylo goes too far with him, but… isn't that what it's about? What the submissive wants, and needs. The dominant – from Kylo's research – enjoys things, too, but it's the submissive who has the real power in the relationship: they're the one with the no-button, most of the time. 

Poe puts both hands on Kylo's face, and meets his eyes. It is not easy, not right now. "I told you I'd give you everything," he says, softly. "And I meant it. But I will not make you do anything you don't want, no matter how much I might want it. I won't be that person, Kylo."

Kylo huffs, and turns his head, kissing Poe's palm. "We do things we don't _want_ all the time, Poe. It's doing things we **hate** that is the problem. Please… remember there's a difference. And have some faith in my own judgement, my own… ability to know when it's too much." 

His eyes turn back to Poe's, and he's sincere. Utterly, irrevocably sincere. "I want to do it. For you. Not for me, for you. And you will have to accept that to me, what you want is entirely as important to me as what _I_ want. We're a partnership, Poe. With all that entails." 

At first, some part of Poe wants to argue. He wants to say that compromise in relationships does not usually extend to one half asking the other to flat-out assault them. He wants to say that he can't do this, that he shouldn't have pushed for it, that it's wrong somehow.

He wants to beg the other man to forget any of this ever happened.

But… he's also just been suitably told. And… he did say _anything_.

He drops his hands, and his head. "Then do it," he whispers, softly.

Kylo won't let him hide that easily. He grabs his chin, and forces his eyes up, to meet his own. So he can see the love and adoration there. "I will. Because I **love** you," he insists, and then kisses him. Hard. Harder. He's not going to go from nothing straight into hyperspace, instead making a show of scratching his mental claws through Poe's own mind. A thread, bloody and loving. 

That moment of eye-contact is somehow more painful than a punch to the chest, and Poe is almost relieved when Kylo kisses him instead. He presses into it, not outright pushing for more, but not afraid to make it clear how much he enjoys it, either.

And then he feels the push into his mind, but he doesn't try to fight it. He _can't_ fight it, but that doesn't usually stop him attempting it, partly out of instinct and partly just to feel the inevitability of it. But not now. No.

He _wants_. And he _doesn't_. And the counterpoint alone is going to break him.

When the kiss breaks, Kylo slips a little away, out from his embrace, and grabs Poe's hair. Knots his fingers in, and walks off the bed, dragging him behind, taking no care to let him find balance as he forces him off the mattress. 

Poe goes with it – he doesn't have much in the way of a choice, though he _does_ choose not to resist – trying to keep his footing as he's pulled around. Not – yet – daring to say a word.

The Sith drags Poe to the foot of the bed, and then kicks his legs from under him, smashing his face down onto the bed, and dropping him in place. "Are you going to behave like a good bitch, or do you need reminding of your place, Dameron?" 

There are two options here, and Poe only has a couple of seconds to consider them. Either he surrenders completely, or he fights. And right now, everything in him cries out to _surrender_ – so loud that he worries Kylo will be able to pick up on it. But… no. No. If this is happening, he has to do it right.

He has to fight.

Poe closes his eyes, and thinks of Jakku.

"I told you," he hisses, with as much strength as he can muster on the spur of the moment. "I won't give you a damned _thing_."

Up comes a _foot_ , still in the boot, and it stomps down on the back of Poe's neck, grinding him further into the bed. It's cruel, and it's filthy, and that's the point. "Really? You owe me two TIEs, and one Stormtrooper. Not to mention a planet, as well as reparation for the map. If I was you, I'd be thinking of what you could _possibly_ offer me to make it up to me… do you really think you have anything worth me taking?" 

" _Nothing_ ," Poe throws back. "Crying shame. Should've thought of that _before_ you got so careless around all your ships and planets and things. Might as well quit whilst you're _behind_."

He can't fight the way he's held, but he can start looking for an opening to. He tries to let some of the resistance drop out of his posture, so there's less to fight _against_ if he gets a chance.

If.

To do this properly, Kylo's aware he's going to have to play a little dirtier than he normally would. And it's a delicate, thing, but… he moves the foot from his neck, only to stamp down hard on his lover's calf. And whilst that shock hits, he pushes his knee into Poe's back, and grabs his hair again, bending him back – almost in half – before smacking a flat-palm over his face.

And bloodying his nose. " _Watch your tone_." 

_Fuck_ , but that hurts. A **lot**. The only saving grace is that it's so much, so fast, that everything kind of blurs together, leaving Poe dizzy with it, and not able to focus on any one thing.

Just… pain. A lot of pain.

" _Fucking make me_ ," is his reply, hissed out before he can do something sensible like consider the relative merits – or lack thereof – in actively trying to make this even _worse_.

Poe's face is shoved back into the bed – bloodying the sheets, now – and Kylo uses the Force to lift his hands above his head and hold them into place. He slices through his shirt, score-marks over his shoulders from fingers that never touched – as Kylo stands clear of him to complete his humiliation.

"I'm not even touching you. I'm not even touching you, and I could make your dick so hard it could cut through diamonds. That's how weak-willed you are. That's how **pathetic** Poe Dameron is."

"And what does that prove?" Poe throws back, with all the mental strength he's got left. Strength that is rapidly dwindling, but he won't give up until it's gone. "That you have the Force, and I don't? It's old news. Same as me saying that, if we were both in starfighters, I could run rings around this planet before you'd found the on-switch. Old. News."

"And I could slam inside your head and make you fly _me_ wherever I wanted to go," Kylo replies, just as quickly. And then he throws a leg over him, and his real nails dig into Poe's skin.

"Do you want me to do this, without the Force? To show you that you couldn't even stand up against me _then_? Because I know you, inside and out. I know where to press, and where to pull, and where you…" his fingers push into the spaces just above his collarbones, almost hard enough to cause serious damage. "… **break**."

Poe has to scream at that, because it hurts so much and because he has to have some outlet for the reaction. For the pain. His mind is going increasingly dizzy, some part of him _wanting_ to surrender, but he won't unless he has to. If nothing else… it would invalidate all of this, and he has to get it right.

"Hurting me and breaking me are not… not the same," he manages.

"I never said they were. But pain makes it easier to break a man. And you forget: I already _broke you_." Kylo slides an arm around Poe's throat, pulling back, pressing over his jugular. He pushes his other hand into Poe's pants, between them, and squirms until he can jab a single, dry finger into his tight hole.

And, whilst he does, he throws in image after image. The _Finalizer_. Tied to a chair, bloodied, bruised, and longing. An uncertain emotion, a whipcord of lightning searching for earth. On his shuttle, all but challenging one another, the psychological equivalent of pulling out their dicks in front of everyone.

In a forest. Words. Words alone, and a man kneeling, for no other reason than he knows he should. Kylo forces him to relive them all, and fucks him raw with his middle finger alone. 

Something about all of this is what snaps the final cord in Poe' mind. He can take a lot – a _lot_ – of physical pain. Everyone breaks, yes, but in that respect alone, he doesn't break easily. The mental side, of course, he _can't_ fight, but he's familiar with it now, and he knows how to coast the ebb and flow of it. He may not be able to resist, but he can endure.

But… when you mix in the sex as well, when it becomes more than just pain… that's when it's too much. Much, much too much.

"M-mercy…" he whispers, a rush of shame at how quickly he's reduced to begging. Or… that's how it feels, at least. "Please… please… I…"

Kylo knows, then, that he's won. He finds the coiling spring of arousal inside of Poe, and he flares along it with all of his strength. Sets a match to the tail end, and lets it blossom hotter, whiter, louder inside. Makes Poe's body sing from head to toe with it, makes him _want_. His finger keeps moving, and he bites down on the other man's ear, growling between his teeth.

" _I've only just started_." 

" _Please_." Poe sounds a little desperate now. A little desperate and a _lot_ terrified, as the full weight of all this hits home. "Just… just tell me what you want… _please_ …"

"You don't need to know," Kylo answers. He walks back, just enough to use the fingers either side of the one in him, stroking over the taut, sensitive skin there. "And even if you did know, it's immaterial. I'll do what I want, when I want, how I want. I'll do _you_ any which way I desire." 

And he doesn't just mean sexually. He tugs at loud memories and emotions, pulling flashes to the surface of Poe's mind. His finger curls inside of him, and he smirks, even if Poe can't see. "You have no control over this. You cannot stop it. You cannot control it. Only I can. And the sooner you realise that – that you have _lost_ – the better." 

For a moment, everything in Poe screams out to resist. To do _anything_ to fight this. Physically, mentally. Anything. But… he already knows that he can't. Another wave of terror hits, somehow stronger this time, and he closes his eyes.

"All right," he whispers, brokenly. Acquiescing, yes, if not – quite – full-on surrendering. "All right."

Kylo uses the Force to grab the lubricant bottle from the night-stand. He pulls his hand out of Poe's pants, and then shoves them firmly down. He moves to stand to one side as he bares Poe: split-open shirt, and shoved-down pants. There's pink score-marks over his back, and they will sting, later.

A squirting noise, and then there's two fingers moving into him. Firm, firm strokes that twist and turn. "You're not coming until I deem it necessary. You might not even come at all. This isn't about you, Poe. You're nothing but a stuck bitch. You're going to offer me more than just your hole, by the time I'm done. And even if it's too much – if it hurts – you're going to _take it all_."

Three fingers, well-slicked, and they spread and spread until he slips his little finger in, too. Claws his hand wider in him, playing it as close to agony as he can, without tipping over the edge. 

"Fuck… oh _fuck_ …" Poe gasps, the penetration agony and ecstasy in equal measure, if very much in danger of tipping towards the former. "I'll… I'll do anything… please… you don't have to… to…"

He's losing his mind now. _Rapidly_. And he knows it. And that, somehow, makes it worse, because he can feel the last vestiges of his will slipping gradually away, like they're abandoning him, leaving him here with no defences.

"I do have to. And I want to. And I will." All four fingers, and Kylo twists his wrist this way and that, squirms him wider open, makes sure it stings almost too much, but not quite. "Tell me, Pilot: what's the most you've ever taken?" 

Because Kylo fully intends to push his whole hand into him. He knows it can be done, and he knows it's supposed to feel good. Especially if the person receiving it is _submitting_. Kylo's most assuredly done his research on this matter. 

" _This much_ ," is Poe's answer, barely more than a high-pitched whisper, and absolutely drenched in terror. Never more than four digits. And… never from someone blessed with such big hands.

He wants to beg for mercy again, but he doesn't quite dare. Scared of what the consequences might be, if he does.

"Then I'll be the first to put more in you." Kylo's other hand rests low on Poe's ass, above his tailbone, as he continues to fuck him slowly with just his fingers. It's definitely hard to do, because Poe is tensing, but he slams another bout of arousal through him, and his fingers go in up to the palm when he does it.

"I'm going to put my whole hand inside of you, Poe. And there's nothing you can do to stop me. Not that you would. You're such a greedy little whore that even that would turn you on. And even if it didn't? I'd make sure it _did_." 

It would. This is part of the problem. And it's hard to tell – yet – if all of _this_ is part of the solution. Poe closes his eyes and presses his face more firmly into the bloodied sheets beneath him. He tries to count to ten, to get himself to calm down, but he only makes it as far as four.

"Then do it," he throws back, albeit far more in desperation than in any kind of anger. "Just do it."

"Not until _I_ want to," Kylo chides, and then his other hand claws blunt nails from one shoulder to the opposite hip: breaking the skin, but not making him bleed. Just making him _raw_. And when he does, he tucks his thumb into his palm, and starts to bend fingers inside of him, making his fist half-in, half-out. 

Poe barely processes the pain across his back, because Kylo goes and does _that_ , and he arches forward as much as he can. " _Mercy_ ," he all but whimpers, his mind starting to sink. But… not in surrender, not in bliss. This is merely defensive, some last desperate act of self-preservation. Instinct, trying to send him somewhere else.

"No." Poe doesn't want mercy, he wants to be broken. He wants it to go too far. That is the point. (Although Kylo knows, deep down, that if it really was too-too far, they'd stop. They would.) But it has to be that step – a single one, no more – over the line. He carefully makes his fist tight, and holds Poe's hip still as he starts to work his hand in and out, in and out… not going too far, in, not yet. Not until his body accommodates to it. 

"You're going to take whatever I give you." 

Trying to relax on cue is basically impossible. As soon as you realise you're supposed to do it, your mind and body both begin reacting to the fact that you _haven't_ , thereby ratcheting the _lack_ of relaxation even higher, turning the whole thing into a confused, recursive, un-relaxed mess.

But it doesn't stop Poe trying. Physically, mentally, he tries to relax. Tries to accommodate to what Kylo is doing to him. Tries to get his heart to stop racing, his breathing to be something other than short, sharp gasps.

None of it really works.

He nods a few times, against the bed, biting his lip so hard he's confident the blood he can taste is fresh. "All right," he whispers, brokenly. "All right."

Kylo can tell it's difficult, and he tweaks a few things – just slightly – to make Poe's body ease around the deep intrusion a little more. After all, Poe won't know he's helping. Not really, not at this point. "Now… aren't you going to tell me how good this feels? How you want me to go harder, faster?" he suggests, voice a hungry, dark purr. 

Refusing would be a monumentally bad idea. Poe considers it for little more than seconds. And… there's also the part where this _does_ feel good. Of course it does. Even when it hurts.

_Especially_ when it hurts.

"…It does feel good," he murmurs, very softly. "D-don't hold back… _Break me in half_."

Dangerous, dangerous. But the parts of Poe's mind that process these things have long since shorted out.

"I'll break you into more than half." The words are a feral, guttural promise. Darker than the Darkest Force-trick, as he starts to slam into him in earnest. Pushing in until Poe's body simply won't take any more, hammering him with all his upper body strength. Poe is so tight around his fist, so snug, and he tries to press down against his walls, against that place that normally makes him buck like mad.

Right now, bucking is pretty much impossible. Kylo watches with fascination as his wrist vanishes inside of Poe, and he uses his other hand to grab hold of his hair again. "You like it, don't you? Like knowing you're such a slut you'll take anything I give you? Like knowing you can get off on my _hand_ alone? And the pain… you want it. You crave it…"

Kylo leans in, to whisper by his ear. " **You need it**." 

" _Yes_ ," Poe manages, high-pitched and terrified and _honest_. His mind slowly, comprehensively shattering as the physical stimulus undoes whatever last vestiges of resistance remain in him. "Yes… anything, Master, anything…"

He's sinking deeper, now, the pain and the pleasure starting to merge together into some great wash of _sensation_ , too intertwined for him to trace any one part back to a source. The surrender – mental and physical – does make him relax a little more, pulling him even further down, now he's no longer fighting it.

"Then I'll give it to you," Kylo promises. "I'll give it all to you. You just lie there, lie there like a good boy. Take everything I throw at you, and know it's love. All of it. Love." 

His hand works steadily, tugging back to spread Poe's hole around the flare of his fist, then back in. Poe's body works him so well, and Kylo wonders what his ass looks like when it's welcoming his dick, instead. He jabs sharp, mental pain into Poe's thighs, up and into his waistline, counterpointing the full pleasure of being fucked on his hand. "Tell me, Pilot: is this what you craved?" 

Poe nods, biting his lip again. " _Yes_ ," he gasps. And, whilst it is fair to say that he wouldn't _dare_ give any other answer right now, it doesn't make this one any less true.

And he has a rather more pressing concern. "I… I'm so close… I…"

He is. Even with the pain, even feeling like he's been smashed to pieces, he's achingly hard. And needing. Needing so very badly.

"You: what?" The Sith isn't going to let him off that easily. Absolutely not. He wanted pushing beyond what was 'normally' sensible, and Kylo intends to take that to the very bitter, inevitable end. 

Poe knows it, of course. But he had to try. He can't find the voice to answer, though – the implication too much for him right now – so he just nods over and over, face pressed into the sheets again.

"You're going to say it. Or you're not going to get it, Poe. It's that simple. You say I have everything, then you _give_ me everything. Or I'll take it without your consent, or your choice in the matter." 

"Please let me come," Poe whispers, quickly. "Please. I surrender." Though he's already tensing in anticipation of the refusal. Of the _consequences_.

"I know you do." Oh, he does. "But you asked me to go _too far_." He puts his other hand between Poe's thighs, and grabs hold of his cock. "You don't dare come. Not until you can't _not_." And he starts to stroke over his shaft almost as fast as the other hand moves inside of him. 

" _Yes, Master_ ," Poe gasps, the words almost soundless, and he presses deeper against the bed, closing his eyes. Trying so very, very hard to hold out, to hold _on_ , simply because he's scared of what will happen if he doesn't.

And he is. Scared. More scared than he knows how to process.

Kylo scorches through Poe's mind – along their Bond – with all the fury he knows. With all the love, and the fierceness he has in him. Not a desire to injure, or wound, but a desire for it to _feel_ so much as to be painful. "Good," he echoes, as his hands move in a blur. "Arch your back… yes. More. Let me in deeper…" 

And then he bites down on Poe's hip, teeth breaking the skin, letting the pain of it mingle in with the pleasure. 

"Fuck… fuck… fuck!" Poe cries out, bucking in pain – as much as he can, still held like this – and trying, trying, trying to hold in the desperate pleas for mercy that threaten to slip his lips. Because… he's been told to _take_ , and he doesn't dare not.

And right now… he _would_ tell Kylo anything. Anything. Even if there was something he shouldn't. Some part of him wishes there really _was_ something left to say, something left to offer up… but there isn't.

The Sith laps at the wound, and – satisfied he's taken everything he can get – he finds the thread of Force-flickering inside Poe that is his arousal and flares out with every ounce of control he has. And – being a fully trained Sith, and accidental Jedi Master to boot – is rather a _lot_. But he won't command, not in words. This has to be more than words. He pushes his fist all the way inside, as he strokes Poe to the balls and holds on tight. 

There comes a point where you can't hold back, no matter how hard you try. A point where physical imperative takes over from everything else, where no amount of mental resistance will do any good whatsoever.

A point where, in effect, you break.

This is it. For a few seconds, Poe just cries out, " _Pleasepleasepleaseplease_ ," over and over, very quickly, the last vestiges of common sense and self-preservation gone, and the plea for mercy impossible to hold in.

And then he comes, so hard that the world goes black, completion ripping through him so intensely that it _hurts_ , his whole body tensing right up as he loses control. He can't stop it, can't resist it, and even though it feels _so very good_ , the wave of terror that chases after it overrules any real sense of pleasure.

And… then it's over, and he's curled into the bed, barely holding back tears. "I'm sorry," he whispers, desperate and terrified, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, mercy, please mercy, please no more, I can't, I can't, I'm sorry…"

Kylo slows his hands, and slows the pulse of pleasure. Doesn't stop all at once, but lets the pressure of it fade and abate. He starts to stroke him much more softly, and he lifts from his hip to kiss the small of his back. "It's okay. It's okay, Poe. It's okay. I've got you. It's alright." He keeps the touches there, keeps himself inside of Poe's head. 

Pulls his hand very slowly out of him, and just lays his flat palm over his entrance, knowing it's going to feel raw and empty. "Shhh. It's okay. You were so brave, so strong. You were beautiful, Poe. Beautiful." 

The sudden shift from aggression to care shorts Poe's mind out all over again, and he genuinely cannot work out what's happening. "I'm sorry," he keeps whispering, "I'm so sorry, I'll do anything, just give me a chance, please, please… Master… please…"

Very carefully, Kylo lifts Poe up onto the bed and lowers him to lie on his side. He spoons his larger self up behind him, bending his knees so Poe has to curl into a foetal ball. Arm around his waist, and head on his lover's, cheek to cheek. "It's okay, Poe. You don't need to apologise. You don't need to. You did so well, love. So well. It's okay. I promise. You can relax, now." 

Poe still can't quite process it. Not at first. Not until Kylo curls around him like that, and holds him, and then he just _shudders_ from head to toe and tries to pull Kylo in tighter, like he'll die without the contact.

In this moment, he might.

" _I'm so sorry_." But he means something else, now.

"You don't need to be," Kylo whispers in return, the words just behind his ear. He's trying to blanket him wholly, to keep him safe and secure. "But if you are, I'll still forgive you."

He's not sure he's done this right. Not what Poe wanted, anyway. How do you? How do you push someone too-far, but not-too-far? How do you know if it's been good, or right? How do you know if they liked it, when they wanted not to? Kylo's head is a confusing mess, but that's not what he shows. Instead, he shows his complete and utter adoration and devotion. His care and concern. Mental fingers slide in, finding aches and soothing them through his whole frame.

"It's over. It's over. You did it, Poe. You made it." 

Kylo's arm around Poe is warm, and lovely, and Poe keeps trying to pull him in still further, as if there will be some point where the pressure or the warmth or the sense of being held will just snap everything into place and make it all make sense.

He… did it? He… but he'd wanted… and…

Poe breathes out, slowly. It feels like the first time he's done it in hours. He breathes out and gradually, gradually starts to… maybe not quite _relax_ , but _calm_. And, as he does, as he lets go, he can feel – deep down – the pleasure still singing through his body.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, as his mind finally starts to process what's happened. "Thank you… Master… thank you…"

"Anything for you." Kylo means that, or he wouldn't say it. Even things he's not really wanting for himself, he'll offer. Compromise. That's what relationships are based on, isn't it? Wanting the same things, and meeting in the middle when you don't. It wasn't horrific, and it didn't make him feel unhappy, and Poe… well. Poe will now know whether he really wants this element, or not. 

A throbbing, low presence inside of Poe's mind, and Kylo kisses him some more. "You can come down slowly. As slowly as you want. I'll be here. I'll be with you, always." 

"Just hold me," Poe all but pleads. "Just don't let me go." I'll die if you do. My whole world will break in two and then shatter to pieces. That's how it feels right now. But he can't say all of it, not out loud.

He breathes out, again. Slower, this time. Still not entirely sure how to put his mind back together. How _do_ you put your mind together, after something like that?

"Thank you," he murmurs, once more. "I… should never have asked… and I never will again… but… _thankyou_."

"It's okay," Kylo insists again. "I'm not going anywhere, and… you needed to ask. You needed to know. And if you've decided you never want it again, that's fine. But if you find you _do_ … we know it can be done, now. We know how." 

Kylo pulls back, only slightly, and only so he can forcibly roll Poe to face him. Legs that lace in and out of one another, and he tucks him into his chest. That way he can feel his heart beating against his ribs, can feel it pitter-patter slower. 

"…I… assume I didn't go too far?" 

Poe curls in tightly again. He can hold on like this, too, and he does, with all the strength he's got left. "…Too far..?" he whispers. "No… no… never… you… you were _perfect_ , Kylo…"

The chances are high he _will_ want it again, one day. But he doesn't think he would ever dare ask for it.

Kylo's fingers slide into Poe's hair, gently stroking him. He's holding just as tightly back, with his arms and legs. "I'm afraid you're going to look a little worse for wear in the morning. Is… can you breathe alright?" Because he did smack him pretty hard. The bleeding stopped a long time ago, but it's still no fun to go around with a bust nose. 

It takes Poe a moment to realise what Kylo is talking about. And then… "…I… yes… I'm fine, I… fuck, this will be difficult to explain…"

Very difficult. And… there's likely no way to avoid having to do it.

"I should have thought of that, sooner." Kylo sounds rueful, and he pulls him even tighter in. "I can try to get the medics come here to apply Bacta to speed things up, if you want?" 

He hadn't meant to leave a lasting mark on his face. He'd been going for physical and emotional impact. And… sinus impact, apparently. 

"No… no…" Poe answers, at once. Partly because he doesn't want anyone else coming near him right now, partly because he doesn't want Kylo to even _let go_ of him yet, and partly… because he asked for this.

And he knows it. And that includes the consequences.

"If anyone asks… I'll… find some way to explain it," he insists. It won't be the first time. Though he can't use 'I was marooned in an ancient Sith temple for five days' as an excuse for this one.

"…hopefully I won't be arrested for spousal abuse." Kylo makes light, but he does somewhat worry. Still, he thinks they likely know by now that he's sincere in his heel-face-turn, but there will never be a complete faith in him. Not ever.

"I'll give them a blow-by-blow account of how I begged for it, if that's what it takes," Poe insists, his cheeks flushing a little hot. But he means it. He'd rather the whole world knew the truth than a single person thought any less of Kylo.

More little kisses from Kylo, and a hand that finds his, lacing them together, placing them over Poe's stomach. "You are the most beautiful, fierce, brave, strong man I ever met, Poe. I mean it."

"If I am… it's because of you. And _for_ you. But… I don't feel it… I…" He can't stop himself asking. "Did I cross the line?"

Kylo shakes his head, and holds him tighter still. "I told you, I'm just as capable of saying _no_ as you are. But I don't need to say 'no', because – this… this is something in and of itself. This is… private. This is **us**. And I know, now, that I'm not like him. I know I won't hurt you for the sake of hurting you. I know I won't do things just to make you suffer. So… it's okay. I promise, Poe: it's okay." 

And it is. Other things have his blood singing, but this didn't make it turn cold. He wonders if, in time, he could learn to enjoy this more. Maybe not often, and not so hard… but it's a possibility. If nothing else, he feels… happier, now. Happier that the last thing is gone, and they know they'll come through the other side. 

"I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, if I ever want to stop, you'll know," Kylo promises. 

Poe nods several times, and curls in tighter. Letting the words etch themselves into his mind, so he never forgets. So… he can be _sure_. He still doesn't think he could quite bring himself to ask for this again… but he could perhaps say yes if it was offered.

After all… he _does_ feel amazing right now. Aching and exhausted, but amazing.

"All right," he says, softly. "I trust you. And I love you."

"I love you, too," Kylo says, and trails kisses from one temple, over his forehead, to the other. "I love you so much. My pilot. My beautiful pilot. You should rest, now. If you can. Do you think you can?" 

Rest? Rest sounds like a very good idea. Rest would have been a good idea after the alcohol alone, and though Poe feels _wholly_ sober now, he knows he isn't actually.

"So long as you're here, I can do anything," he whispers.

"Then sleep, in my arms, and know I'm pleased to have satisfied you, my heart." He grabs at the covers, using the Force to bundle them around them both. "I don't want any guilt, or second-guessing. What we do – what we are – is sacred, Poe. _You_ are sacred… but you should also sleep." 

Even holy things close their eyes, at times. 

Poe smiles, just a little. "Yes, Master," he murmurs, already starting to slip under, to slip deeper, safe in his lover's arms.

And, in moments, he's asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and exhale.
> 
> Comments? Questions? Please feel free to throw them our way. And please, please, do not try this kind of edgeplay at home unless you _really_ know what you're doing, and what the consequences are. We'll be getting to that ourselves, next time around.
> 
> Speaking of next time, we'll be back on Saturday with more, including the start of our next big section of plot. Until then... peace out! ;-)


	47. What Comes Next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People: we return! First off, a note that should really have gone at the front of the previous chapter: we apologise for how late that one went up. Unfortunately - given our lives seem to be going through something of a Disaster Conga of late - Davechicken fell and broke her shoulder on Wednesday. She is going to be all right - it looks like surgery will not be necessary - but it meant we were very late posting that day, and we will likely need to keep up our Wednesday/Saturday update schedule a little longer than planned due to our continued reduced output. At present we have no plans to scale back any further but we will of course keep you posted!
> 
> In the meantime, have another chapter: in which Poe rationalises the night before, and then we start moving towards the next big plot set-piece. We hope you enjoy!

Despite being so very tired, Poe wakes early the next morning. Kylo is still sleeping, so – not wanting to wake him – the pilot slips out of bed and…

…OK, seriously, he is quite a state. He was barely dressed when he fell asleep, and he's even more dishevelled now, and… _wow_ , but he aches.

He strips everything off and staggers into the shower. The warmth of it helps, but the fact of the matter is, he has _quite_ a few marks this morning. Most of them aren't going to show, but there _is_ the part where he looks like he's been punched in the face.

There are going to be questions. And… he is going to answer them.

And he's a little scared about that part.

He locates fresh clothes, and dresses. He _wants_ to be out flying, but he knows that he won't be able to get clearance until late morning at the very earliest, and likely not until after lunch. It's standard policy after a night involving that much alcohol. But it doesn't stop him from working on his ship, and he does need to tinker with it some more.

A good pilot does as much of their own maintenance as possible, after all. You have to be able to trust in your ship absolutely.

When he's ready to go, Poe slips back over to the bed and nudges Kylo just enough to wake him, but not enough to wake him right up. "I'm heading out for a little while," he says. "I'll be down by the landing pads if you need me."

From the soft little murmurs, he's been heard. He kisses Kylo on the forehead, and then slips out of the building into the cool air.

Well. 'Cool' might be pushing it a bit. 'Cold' would probably be closer. There's a thin layer of mist still lying over everything, and the sky overhead is mostly cloudy. The base itself is still very quiet, which at least means Poe can walk down to the landing pads without running into anyone.

He wonders, vaguely, where BB-8 has got to. It really helps if they run the calibrations together, although there's things he can be doing in the meantime, and…

…That's when he realises he's not the only person around anymore. Snap is down by the landing pads, under the wing of his own ship, and he's spotted Poe long before Poe can consider maybe turning back and putting this conversation off, and…

"Great minds, eh?" Snap starts out, headtilting to their ships. "Glad to see you're still alive after all that home-brew, and…"

This would be when he obviously notices the state Poe is in, to say nothing of how he's walking.

"…fuck, Poe, what in blazes _happened_ to you?" he exclaims, instantly defensive and alarmed… and _then_ his mind clearly makes another connection and he stops dead. "Did you and Kylo _fight_?"

"No," Poe insists at once, and then looks down. "Well… sort of… I…"

Snap's eyes go wide. "What happened?" he pushes, moving in closer, clearly midway between fraught and angry. "Did… I mean…"

Poe realises he's just going to have to do this. He pulls Snap back behind the closer X-Wing, so they're not talking in full view of the concourse, and the alarm in the other man's expression is impossible to miss.

"Poe, what happened?" Snap says again, gripping his shoulders and staring at him. "Everything was fine last night – everything seemed _perfect_ – and now…"

"Everything is _still_ fine," Poe insists, desperately trying to stop his best friend overreacting. "I… Look. Let me try to explain this…"

"Explain? Poe… did Kylo do this?"

Deep breath. Very, very deep breath. "Yes. But, before you run off on some avenging crusade… you need to understand _why_. I _asked_ for it, Snap."

The other man takes a step back, eyes even wider now. "You… _asked_ for it?"

"Yes. Please just let me explain. I…"

How _do_ you explain something like this? His usual proclivities are difficult enough for a lot of people to understand, and _this_ is even more so.

But sometimes, you just have to be honest.

"All right," Poe starts off. "Look. I'm going to have to get a little personal here, so… just don't flip out 'til I'm done. I've always liked sex rough. I worked _that_ out pretty early on. But, when Kylo and I got together… I realised it could be more than that. I… enjoy surrendering to him. Completely. Letting him control me, letting him… letting him _hurt_ me. I have, since the very start."

Since _before_ the very start.

"You… but, what happened to you, on the _Finalizer_ …"

Poe nods. "I have _very_ conflicting feelings when I think about that now. I mean, at the time, I didn't, but…"

But he also sort of did. Sort of. Not consciously, but… he did.

"Right at the start of this," Snap says, carefully, "when you first told me about the two of you, I thought… I _worried_ … that you might have Dependency Syndrome. And you…"

"I don't, Snap," Poe insists, softly. "I don't, and you know I don't. It isn't like that. Our Force-bond, it… pulled us together, once we finally met. I think it helped us work things out faster. We fell for each other. And Kylo… Snap, he was _terrified_ , at the start. Terrified he'd hurt me in a way I didn't want. Terrified he'd push too far, or do too much, and it took us _days_ to really work it out. But… it does work. And he… he can take me halfway to ecstasy with nothing but a firm hand and a threat. You… you _know_ about this sort of thing, right?"

Snap gives a wry little laugh. "Sure I do. I'm not an idiot. But I've never met anyone who took it beyond… I don't know, handcuffs on the headboard. What you're talking about is… more. A lot more. Isn't it?"

Poe nods again. "Yes. And… it is hard to explain this to someone who doesn't feel the same way, but… it's _incredible_. The way it makes me feel… the way it makes Kylo feel… I was looking for that my whole adult life, without realising it, and in him… in him, I found it."

The other man seems to consider this for a moment. "All right," he says. "I can… maybe not understand it, but certainly respect it. So you… wow, this is the weirdest conversation we've ever had… you get off on the pain?"

"Yes."

"… _How_?"

Now it's Poe's turn to give a wry little laugh. "That isn't easy to answer. It may sound alien to you, but to me… on some level I can't understand why _everyone_ doesn't enjoy it. Pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin, at least in my head. Kylo hurting me is the same as Kylo giving me pleasure. It's… love."

Snap breathes out, slowly, obviously still trying to make sense of all this. "There's… a line, though," he says. "Right? I mean… there must be things you _wouldn't_ enjoy?"

"Of course," Poe answers. "Part of it… a _large_ part… is trusting your lover to understand that line. To know how far they can push it without going too far. And I trust Kylo that way. I know, when I surrender to him, that I am completely safe. Because I love him, and whatever follows is done out of that same love."

"Then… explain _this_."

Poe sighs, still trying to work out _how_ to explain this. "For a long time, now," he starts, "I have wanted Kylo to… to go further than he should. Further than we usually do. I didn't just want him to hurt me. I… wanted him to break me."

" _Why_?"

"Because… I wanted to know what it would feel like. Because pain excites me, and pain I think I can't quite handle excites me _more_. Because… I trust him so absolutely, and I wanted to prove it. And… I've sort of pushed for it before, but it's never happened, and last night… I don't know, maybe my inhibitions were down because I'd been drinking, or maybe it would have happened anyway. But he… asked me to tell him a secret, and I told him what I wanted. And… he did it."

"And… it was…"

"It was fucking amazing," Poe whispers. "I can't… I don't quite know how to put it into words. I'm not even sure if you can, not really. But… by the time he was done, I felt…"

Broken. Truly, gloriously, broken.

"… _free_."

"So this… this wasn't… it wasn't anything bad?"

"No. Trust me. It was _nothing_ bad. I know it looks a little rough, but… I _wanted_ a little rough. Besides, I've had marks before. You just usually don't see them."

Snap gives him an odd look. "I've seen them," he says, levelly. "After Eigengrau. You said it was from the tests in that Sith temple, but… not all of it was, was it?"

Poe smiles, wryly. "No. Not all of it was."

"I should've figured. You certainly _fly_ like a masochist. And yes, don't give me that look, I know what the words mean. I may not be well-versed in this stuff, but I'm not actually an idiot."

"Then… you understand? I mean… enough not to worry?"

Snap puts a hand on Poe's shoulder. "I do now. It's… a lot to wrap my head around, but… I know from your voice that you're telling me the truth."

"I am. And… you're not going to be weird with Kylo? Seriously, Snap, I think he worried he'd gone too far, but… he _really_ didn't."

"No, I'm not going to be weird. Not if you both wanted this. So long as… you promise me you have a safeword."

Poe stares at him. Snap gives a little laugh. "I told you I'm not an idiot. I've just never knowingly met anyone who swung this way before. Now promise me."

"I promise you," Poe answers.

Snap nods. "Good. What are you going to tell everyone else?"

"I don't know. I mean, I could tell them the truth, but it's… personal. Do you think I can sell it as a training injury?"

"Probably. So long as you don't make a habit of it."

"I think we'll both be more careful next time," Poe says, and then realises he's said 'next time' and… he still doesn't know if he could even push for a 'next time' and…

…Possibly think about that later.

"Good," Snap answers. "Then yes, say it was a training injury. And… y'know, thanks for being honest with me."

"You're my best friend, Snap."

"True. Plus, you're a terrible liar."

"…That too."

They both fall silent, leaning back on the hull of the X-Wing. Poe breathes out, slowly, relaxing somewhat now it finally looks like he's done this right.

"So," he says, glancing sideways and grinning. "You and Jess."

Snap actually blushes a little. "Yeah. Me and Jess."

"Where _is_ Lieutenant Pava this morning?"

"Last I checked, still sleeping soundly in my bunk," Snap answers. He looks quietly delighted, and more than a little surprised.

Poe grins and claps him on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you. I mean it. Maker knows you two have needed to work _that_ one out for as long as I can remember."

"Yeah, and apparently everyone knew but me. Did you know Bastian was running a pool on when we'd get together?"

"Sure I did. Not sure yet who won. But, once I find out, drinks are on them!"

"I'll second that," Snap replies, and then grins. "We should get to work on these ships of ours. But you… you're definitely OK?"

"I am definitely OK. More than OK."

"Good. Then I am too."

And Poe smiles. Suddenly… everything feels right again.

***

It's later in the afternoon, at the time Kylo has arranged to meet Rey, to continue her training. They have at least one session per day, in the clearing out in the forest.

This time, Kylo has asked Rey to bring Finn along again, so she's walking with the young man at her side as they head up to the place in question. They're not alone, though – R2-D2 is with them, following in their wake.

Kylo sees the familiar astro – his uncle's – with a twinge of nostalgia and regret. R2 has been somewhat conspicuous in his absence, recently, spending most of his time with Threepio. That was until he decided to adopt Rey as his new master. It's good that such a talented and personable droid has chosen Rey, and he knows Luke would have approved.

"I thought we might try something a little different, this time," he calls out, before they're all the way close. 

A toe in a blaster-strap, and he kicks it up and into his hand. Tosses it, so Finn can catch it. 

"That's set to training levels. Only minor stinging, but you can feel it hit."

"You want me to shoot you?" Finn's hands check the weapon without his eyes needing to follow suit.

"No: Rey. Whilst we spar. She needs to be ready for attacks from multiple sources, at once." 

Rey looks a little alarmed for a moment, eyes flicking between Finn and Kylo, but then she nods. "So… I have to fight you and deflect the bolts at the same time?"

Clearly not an easy thing to do.

"Yes. It's more realistic as a training exercise, to what you would need to face in a real battle. Quite often, there are ground troopers as well as Force-users, on the field of play." Kylo unhitches his sabre, and readies it in one hand, still turned off.

"Shouldn't I shoot both of you?" Finn asks. "So I can pretend I'm both sides?"

"You just want to shoot me, don't you?"

"…I'm going for realism."

"…fine," Kylo relents. "Shoot us both." 

This makes Rey smile more than a little, though she tries to suppress it, to look serious and sensible and Jedi-ish. And then she unhooks her own sabre hilt, sparking the blade to life and giving it a spin.

She glances over at R2. "Make sure you stay clear of the blaster fire."

The astromech bleeps something about having been dodging blaster fire since Rey was just a twinkle in someone's eye, but then promises to keep it up, and trundles to what looks like a safe spot.

"Don't forget, that astro has met all the great Jedi Masters of recent times," Kylo reminds her. "From Luke, to Anakin, to Obi-Wan, to Yoda… and more."

"Really?" Finn sounds impressed. "How old is it?"

R2 chitters out a response.

"He says that's a rude question," Kylo replies, with a smirk. He ignites his own blade, and points the tip at Rey. "Start out calm, and work your emotional level up. I will match you, blow for blow." 

Rey nods. "All right," she says, raising her own sabre to mirror Kylo's posture, holding the position for just a second before she attacks. She keeps it slow and careful at first, the movements deliberately designed to keep exertion down, to conserve energy.

Her form is certainly improving. There's much more grace in her stance, in each swipe of her blade, bright blue sweeping and arcing through the air.

Kylo falls easily into place around her movements, anticipating them before she's even thought them through. More because he understands her rhythms, now, than because she's predictable in any way. He parries her, an equal and opposite force, dancing through the steps with a grace that looks as natural as breathing.

Their blades – blue and red – bounce back and forth as they use up the whole arena, occasionally using the trees to flip up and over one another. It's almost not even sparring, so much as a graceful dance. 

When Rey starts to get more aggressive, Kylo does the same. The fizzling, crackling noises get faster, and closer together. Smash-smash-smash. The air is thick with it, and Kylo calls out a: "Now!"

Finn slips off the safety and levies several rounds of weak blaster-fire into the tangle of the two of them. 

The change of tack certainly jars Rey a little, even though she knows it's coming, and one of the bolts pings off her shoulder before she can block. It obviously stings, though no more, and there's renewed determination in her eyes as she steps up her attacks, now trying to keep her focus split between Kylo and Finn.

Another couple of bolts come crackling in, and she deflects this time, sending one ricocheting off into the trees, and the second down into the ground. She allows herself a tiny smile of pleasure at that, but doesn't drop her guard, or her focus.

Not wanting to get hit again. But, more than that, wanting to _succeed_ at all this.

"Good!" Kylo calls out, and smashes another bolt away with his own sabre. For him, split-focus is a matter of second-nature. He was always split, in the Order. And even now, as a teacher, he's got one eye on his own safety, and another on hers.

His mind works well like this, he's found. Just enough to keep it busy, without overwhelming or over-extending.

"More?" Finn asks, then shoots five more bolts at them, sort of aiming for the middle more than anything else. 

Rey turns to deflect, a brilliant whirl of blue as she sends bolts pinging away left and right, ducking to avoid the last one because she has to return her focus to Kylo, to parry his sabre-blows. It isn't easy, but she pulls it off, and there's a smile on her face as she backs away slightly, opening up the space between them again.

R2-D2 bleeps in approval, like a droidly applause.

Kylo grins. "Okay, hotshot, you think you can put that blaster to full effect on us? Shoot as many, and as fast as possible? We're also going to need to work together, and it's about time we trained like _that_ , too."

"Sure I can. With the intensity dialled down, it won't overheat so much… let me…" Finn makes a few more adjustments, and then levels it. "Ready?" he asks both of them. 

Rey brings her sabre up again, standing poised for action. "Ready," she answers.

Finn fires like mad. He's sure enough that they won't get hit, so he goes to town on the arcing fire.

Kylo's blade sweeps through and around, and his stance moves as he forces her to adapt to his movement. He's not going to just stand still and block, it's about learning how to predict and compliment the other. 

At first, Rey is a little too focused on just herself, her blocks good but somewhat insular. But, gradually, she starts timing her movements to work around Kylo's, clearly getting a sense of how – between them – they can provide a more effective protection for them both.

Plus, their differing heights mean they can arc around each other with growing ease, deflecting everything they can and shifting position to dodge the rest. It's an exercise that can be both invigorating and almost soothing at the same time, and the Force flares with how much Rey finds herself enjoying it.

"Over my back," Kylo says, as he ducks low and plants his stance, facing away from Finn, allowing her to twist in the air and slide over his shoulders and spin her blade in an arc that protects them both. 

The move from antagonistic to co-operative goes much smoother than he expected, and Kylo grabs leaf-matter from the ground, pushing them up and shoring them off, making a temporary staircase for her to leap onto: one that goes high over Finn's head and allows her to pin him between them both. 

"Got you," Rey declares, with a broad smile, sabre pointed at Finn. But only for a moment, of course. After that, she steps back and lowers it, though she's still smiling. "That… felt good."

She looks a little unsure about admitting how much she enjoyed it, but at the same time she _did_ and Kylo, at least, won't be able to miss the echoes in the Force. It's a different way of learning, to how she started out, but there's no denying how well it works.

"Don't feel guilty. You're learning how to be good at something. Emotion is not anyone's enemy," Kylo reminds her, twirling his sabre with a flourish.

"And yeah, you're pretty damn amazing," Finn says, still holding up the blaster in mock-surrender. "You're really great. I'd be terrified if I had to fight you. Either of you."

"Joking aside, there _are_ six Knights, and the Leader." Kylo deignites his weapon, and hitches it back to his waist. "And you'll want to keep your distance, Finn. Get behind a cannon if you see a sabre that isn't ours." 

Rey flicks her own sabre off too, looking as though she wants to ask a question, but isn't sure if she should. "…What are they like?" she says, after a moment, curiosity obviously getting the better of her. "The other Knights, I mean. You… must have known them fairly well."

He nods. "I trained three of them from their first days, and the other three… I led. Two – Danika and Daria – are twins. Sisters. They… were Jedi, in the temple alongside me. Bonded together, no matter what side they stand on. Tovim joined after us – the youngest – and he… well. In a way, he reminds me unpleasantly of what my father could have been, had he access to the Force and the wrong people around him."

The mention of the two former Jedi clearly gets Rey's attention. She knows the story of the massacre at the Jedi temple but – like everyone else – she doesn't know there were any other survivors.

"I thought…" she starts out, and then looks concerned, because this is not an easy topic to discuss, especially with the man _responsible_ for that incident. "…I thought there were no survivors," she finishes, almost quietly.

"There weren't, in a way. Asha and Ava and Ben… those names died in that room. They had to. The only reason anyone knows who I used to be is because of the link to Darth Vader, and because of the ability to – to… _upset_ my family. To prove that even the Organa-Solo-Skywalkers are not exempt from the Darkness." Kylo gestures to the small seating area they use, and sits.

"Did they know before?" Finn asks. "Before that day?"

"No one knew," Kylo replies. "I had been fighting Snoke's orders for… for years. I was with the Jedi for five, before it became too much. They likely suspected I was divided, and not… as focussed and controlled as I should be. But I think only Luke knew _why_ , or had even a whisper of **how much**. I didn't want to take anyone with me, I didn't… I didn't want to… but they survived the initial attack. Danika – _Ava_ – begged me to spare them both. Told me she would follow me wherever, if I would keep her sister safe. Swore the two of them would… would… follow me to the Dark…"

His voice wavers, and he has to bite down on the inside of his mouth to keep his flare of pain and regret under control. "I couldn't kill them. So I turned them. They followed me back to Snoke, and I made sure they swore fealty so fiercely that he didn't doubt their obedience. It's my fault they are with him. I – I made them Dark so they would live, and… now they're stuck there."

Finn looks up to Rey, not quite sure what to say to this. "You spoke to them, didn't you?"

Kylo nods. 

Some impulse takes Rey, and she reaches over, gripping Kylo's hand for a moment. She's obviously not sure if she should, but some part of her can't not. "You saved their lives," she points out, softly. "Even if they're… if they're truly Dark right now… you saved them. And… and maybe you can save them again. _You_ came back from the Dark, which means… it means they can too."

"Only if they want to," he replies, ruefully. "I can't drag them behind me. Or – I could – but that would make me no better than Snoke. They have to want to change, have to… want to be good, again. But I can certainly keep showing them it's possible. Rey, I haven't told you, but I've been speaking to some of the old – ah – Jedi-turned-Sith. Revan, and Anakin. Here… they call to me." 

An odd look crosses Rey's face. "I've… seen people too," she admits, her eyes flicking to Finn. "I… I didn't even realise it was possible, but one night I felt this… this _calling_. I came out here, and I saw… Master Skywalker. He was a ghost, but he was _him_ , and he told me… he told me I was doing the right thing. That he didn't know for sure where this path would lead, but that it was time for someone to find out. For _us_ to find out. And he said… he said walking this middle line would save more lives in the end. Maybe… that includes some of your Knights."

Kylo laughs. "Of course he talks to you, first. He probably…" The Sith shrugs. "He probably still feels the difference between us – you and me – like the Sith do, too." He doesn't sound too offended by this, though. It makes sense. Thousands of years have divided the two sides of the one Force, and undoing it isn't going to be easy. 

"What did the ghosts you saw tell you?" Finn asks. It seems as if he knew about Rey's visions, if nothing else.

"Much the same. And also that I had to let them make their own choices, in the long-run. That I might have to face up to the fact that we can't save everyone… but some. Maybe some. The other three… they're as Dark as you get. They revel in it – they always have. I doubt any of those would want to come back. It's the twins I hold the most hope for." 

Kylo pushes fingers through his hair, tucking it behind one ear, the gesture automatic. "Revan wants us to form our own school, when this is done. Our own Knights. Knights of Eigengrau – of the _Grey_. If it's to work, I will need you as much as you will need me, Rey. You are the other side of the Force. Light, with a little Dark, to my Dark, with a little Light. In time, maybe there will be those who are equal parts both." 

Rey looks startled. "A whole new order? We… you think we could make something like that work?" On the one hand, it's a huge undertaking, especially for someone so new to all this. But, on the other… it would allow them to rebuild, to _recreate_ , to… start again, and maybe to get it right this time.

And then, another thought obviously crosses her mind. "Do I need to go to Eigengrau?"

Kylo nods. "Yes. You do, I think. It will be difficult for you in some respects, as your Light is more prevalent. But if you are to face and use the Dark… then you need to understand it as deeply as you do your Light. You will need to be tempted into falling – completely, overwhelmingly – and choose to stay true. I think we need to do that after we defeat Snoke, but… if we're to form an Order that can save so many? Then we need you to see what the Dark offers, and why you need to stand firm as you are." 

It's a daunting prospect to consider, having heard Kylo's stories of the temple, of the trials. But Rey nods after a moment. "When I'm ready," she says, "I want to. I want to know for sure that I can do this. And then… I will help you build this new order. And we'll do all we can to save your Knights, Master Kylo. We will. Even a single one would be a victory."

Master. Darth. Both titles are his, and both feel strange, but welcome. Kylo grins. "You'll be more than ready, when I'm finished with you. If only Master Luke had more time with you, you'd already kick my ass ten times over," he teases. 

"She's holding back, aren't you?" Finn says.

"If that's the case, she should show me what she's got…"

Rey grins. "I'd be delighted."

And, in seconds, they're sparring again, blue on red, a whirl of form and motion. It isn't the first time, and yet… it feels like the start of something.

***

It's early afternoon, two days later, when word goes around that the Command Team are all to gather in the central bunker. It's a while since they've all been together like this, and everyone knows precisely why it's happening. Why this has been on the cards for a long time.

Akiva. They have to do something about Akiva. They have to _take it back_.

At the appointed hour, everyone comes together, round the central holo-table in the bunker itself, the main team at the front, and then various others lurking close behind. When they're all here, Leia raises a hand for quiet.

"Thank you for coming, everyone," she starts out. "I'm sure it's no surprise why I've called this meeting. The First Order seized Akiva some time ago, and I believe it is time for us to take action in response. For some days now, we have been making preparations, gathering intel, and all indications as that a window of opportunity has just opened up."

She looks to Statura, who nods. "Indeed it has," he continues. "Until recently, the First Order has had three capital ships in orbit of Akiva, but in the last few days they have pulled two of those three ships away, leaving only one. The _Rectifier_."

Snap gives a rough laugh. "Who _names_ these things?" he remarks.

Statura arches a brow at him. "Someone in need of a great deal of help," he replies, utterly deadpan. "Regardless… there is only one Star Destroyer at Akiva, and that means we may have – as General Organa says – a window of opportunity."

"I agree with your assessment of General Hux," Kylo puts in. "And he really does need a lot of help. But that will have to wait until we take down the Leader."

"So there's only one of them left. Still not good odds," Han drawls, pacing around the table, eyeing it up. "What's the play-by-play?" 

"A two-pronged attack," Poe answers. He himself discussed it at length with General Organa and Admiral Statura early this morning. "We send in the entire squadron of X-Wings – everyone who's spaceworthy – and we use them to lure the _Rectifier_ away from the planet. Ideally, we want to push it into jumping to another system, to chase the squadron down. Once the Star Destroyer is out of range of Akiva, we send in troop carriers – again, everyone we've got – and land on the surface, in the capital city."

"Myrra," Snap says, softly. He hasn't heard the plan yet, and there's confliction in his eyes as he does.

"Myrra, yes," Poe replies. "Our sources suggest that the First Order's presence is concentrated there. So… we land everyone we've got, and take the fight to them."

"You reckon we can win a ground assault?" Han frowns.

"We have two Force-users, now," Kylo says, clearly working things through. He hadn't been there in the meetings, but he didn't need to be. "Our ground assault will be significantly buffered by two sabre-hands getting in the fray. It will most assuredly help with the morale problem, too."

"Yeah, all the troopers know to be afraid of a Knight – no matter what side they're on," Finn agrees. "It will make them think twice."

"Exactly. We'll make them falter, and that will help us win. Plus, without aerial support, we'll cut off the major part of their defence. Do we have any intel on where their garrisons and strongholds are?" Kylo asks. 

Ackbar steps up to the holo-table and sparks it into life, displaying a map of part of central Myrra. "From the recon flights Captain Wexley has made, we believe most of their fortifications are around the Akivan Senate Chambers, here and here."

Red markers flash up on the map, around what is obviously a large building.

"We don't yet know the status of the civilians in the area," Ackbar goes on, carefully. "But we have reason to believe there will be quite a number of them, likely including key members of the Akivan political circle. Senator Yassen-Ri was offworld when the incursion took place, and is – according to the reports – still on Hosnian Prime. But most of the Under-Senators are still on Akiva, along with many of their advisors. We will have to act carefully to avoid putting them in harm's way."

"We may not have a choice," Poe points out. "The First Order has a history of using civilians to bolster their defences. If we're going to do this… people are going to get hurt."

"…we… we can't just… ignore that," Finn says, quietly. 

"We're not going to," Kylo tells him. "We'll work to minimise casualties, but this is a war. If we flinch from a shot because of the risk of ricochet…"

"Yeah, but there has to be a line, right? There has to be a line we don't cross?"

Han drops a hand on Finn's shoulder. "There is. But this ain't it. I know it sounds awful, and those people down there…" he waves at the holo-recreation of the capitol, "…didn't sign up for this, but we gotta think of bigger numbers."

"Han's right," Poe says – two words that still feel odd to him. "No one is talking about crossing the line. We're not _them_ , after all. But… this is going to be a ground conflict in a populated area. There will be casualties. And some of them will be because of us."

"It's the only way," Snap agrees. "We can't go into this half-cocked. We've got to give it everything, or we'll never pull it off, and then those who _do_ die will have died for nothing."

"And… the First Order put those people in harm's way," Rey adds, softly, seeming a little concerned by the line she finds herself agreeing with. "They're just as culpable for what happens."

"I guess," Finn says. He just looks haunted, suddenly. As if he's remembering something he'd rather not. "We keep casualties as low as we can…" He doesn't sound entirely enthusiastic.

"We always do, kiddo. But you can't win a war without some people getting killed who don't deserve it. You just gotta remember the future we can offer, compared to the future under Snoke and the Order." Han looks over to Leia, and then his son. "You know, this is nothing new. We've been fighting this fight longer than some of you even been alive. But the day we stop, the day we give in to them…" 

"…is the day it was all for nothing," Poe completes, a flicker of a haunted look in his own eyes, now. Not so much as the thought of what's coming, but at the hypothetical. It's that precise thought that he knows has weighed heavy on his own father's mind for decades, and it's a huge part of what motivates Poe himself to keep fighting.

To make sure it was _never_ all for nothing.

At his side, unobtrusively, he grips Kylo's hand tight. Kylo squeezes back, a flicker of reassurance and love sent through their Bond. 

"This is our best opportunity to re-take Akiva," Statura says, pulling the discussion back to the matter in hand. "If we act now, we'll be able to minimise our own casualties, and we stand a far greater chance of minimising Akivan casualties as well."

He gestures to the map again. "Commander Dameron has volunteered to lead the ground attack," the admiral goes on, and this is clearly a point of some contention.

That would be putting it mildly. They had a rather heated discussion about it earlier.

"I myself was not in favour of the decision," Statura says. "But the Commander…"

"…The Commander," Poe cuts in, pointedly, "said that, as Darth Kylo and his Padawan, Rey, would no doubt be part of the ground assault, he would be too."

"Indeed," Statura concedes, dryly. "Which means that leadership of the squadron falls to Captain Wexley."

"I'm going planetside as well," Snap insists, without a fraction of hesitation. "Akiva is my homeworld and I was there when the First Order took it. So I _will_ be there when the Resistance takes it back."

Statura sighs. Leia puts a hand on his arm. "I think perhaps we can allow the Captain this one," she says, diplomatically. "Given the personal connection."

"…As you wish," Statura says. "Which in turn means that leadership of the squadron falls to Captain Kun… unless _you_ have some objection?"

"Oh, I'm ready for it," Karé answers, brightly. "The _Rectifier_ won't know what hit them."

" _Finally_ ," Statura replies. "Well, then. Captain Kun will lead the starfighter assault, and Commander Dameron will lead the ground troops."

"I'll take the _Falcon_ with you," Han tells Karé. "Make 'em think we're going all out. So they won't suspect the other attack. My baby hasn't seen a real dogfight in years…"

Chewie roars in approval. 

"I'm going where Rey goes," Finn drops in. "And I know how the Order fights."

"Can we fortify it, after we take it back?" Kylo asks. "There's no real point in winning the battle if we lose the seat the minute we try to sit on it." 

"We believe so," Leia answers. "Admiral Statura and I have been assessing our resources, and we have sufficient troops to commit to a garrison, along with the potential for installing a single attack wing, if the Akivans will permit it."

"They'll permit it," Snap says, firmly. Like a man who is not going to take 'no' for an answer. "This will _not_ be all for nothing."

"Then I believe we are decided," Statura continues. "We go at first light. It's time we showed the Order that they can't push us around anymore."

"I think we showed them _that_ when we blew up Starkiller," Poe says. "But a firm reminder wouldn't go amiss."

"Quite," Leia agrees, with a nod. "Then it's settled. Everyone get plenty of rest tonight, and tomorrow… tomorrow we take back Akiva."

With the meeting over, everyone starts to disperse. Poe can't help feeling like he needs to be outside, like he needs space to think about all this – knowing how dangerous it's going to be – and he meets Kylo's eyes, headtilting in the direction of the doorway and wordlessly suggesting they head out.

Kylo follows, immediately, and puts a hand on his lover's waist as they go. When they're a few steps away from people, he murmurs, lowly: "So, does that mean Commander Dameron will officially be in charge of the ground-mission? And, therefore, me?" 

"Commander Dameron is _never_ in charge of _you_ ," Poe answers, when no one else can hear. "The troops will have to do what I say, but you Force-users are a law unto yourselves. My only hope is that we can work _together_ to make this mission a roaring success."

"The split command structure never really worked, you know," Kylo tells him. "Mostly because each side resented the other, under Snoke's masthead. I resented his troopers, and they resented – and feared – me." His hand gets tighter on Poe's waist, and he drops his chin onto his head.

"We'll make it work. And if you need to point me in a direction, don't be afraid to. Your military prowess is just as formidable as my own. We'll _win_ together, Poe. I know we will." 

"You're right," Poe agrees. "We will. We're going to take back Akiva and we're going to show the First Order – and that _monster_ – that they can't push us around anymore."

They step outside, onto the main landing concourse, the air cool and the sun starting to sink low. Poe is just about to say something else when he realises that Snap is hurrying after them, expression… complicated.

"I didn't push too far in there, did I?" the Captain asks, looking between the two of them. "With Statura, I mean. About me going planetside."

"Snap, if you hadn't asked, I'd've suggested it myself," Poe answers. "He and I had quite a… heated exchange this morning, when I said I wanted to lead the ground assault and not the squadron attack. I made it clear that all of this was more than just a mission. It's _personal_."

"You wouldn't be as effective with your attention split," Kylo tells Snap. "So, I agree with your decision, too. You need to be there, to see things… put right. We both need to be there, for that." 

Snap meets his eyes, and nods, the memory of _that_ day obviously a little heavy. "We do," he agrees, and then manages a wry smile. "The closure will help. Although I think Jess is gonna kill me when I tell her."

"She'll understand," Poe insists. "She'll worry about you – as I'm sure you'll worry about her – but she'll understand."

It's the life they live, after all.

"Is there anything you can tell me that might help?" Kylo asks. "Any local knowledge… any… anything? When we took Akiva, I was barely able to operate. I just broke people's tongues into agreeing, without… without really paying attention to anything but my immediate goals. I want… to help them. To give them back their freedom, the freedom I took from them." 

Snap sighs. "It's going to be complicated. Akiva… has always swung between different poles. Empire and Rebellion. First Order and Resistance. They have a tendency to settle for whoever is the most powerful in the hopes that whoever it _is_ will just accept the point and leave them alone. But it never works. The Trade Federation had their way with the place, and then the Empire, and now the First Order are trying. And I just wish…"

He shakes his head. "I wish they'd _commit_. To **something**. And… trust me, when we liberate them, they won't seem half as grateful as they should. Don't let that get to you. They'll seem as begrudging about the rescue as they no doubt were about the occupation."

Then _why bother_ springs to mind, but Kylo knows that's a dumb response. Because the First Order are horrible, racist, and murderous. Because they steal children, they wage war for the sake of war and power, and because they don't care. "All the more reason to help them, then. If we help even those who don't appreciate it, we prove our point even more." 

Snap takes a deep breath, and nods. "You're right," he agrees. "And… they left the Empire once, so there's still hope."

"And we have to try," Poe adds. "Every planet the First Order takes strengthens their cause, and weakens ours. The sooner we draw a line and say: no more, the better."

"It's going to be hard if we have to garrison everything we take back," Kylo muses. "This… is going to be the beginning of the end. One way or another, this is going to force the Supreme Leader into a show-down. We can't hold every planet, and if it turns into tit-for-tat, it will destroy the galaxy." 

Poe knows as much, too. They simply don't have the resources to do this long-term. Strikes and attacks, yes. Fortification… no. And that means the obvious – and so far impossible – solution is beckoning.

"We have to go after Snoke again," he says, softly. "Once we have Akiva, whilst they're reeling from their defeat… we have to go after him."

"All of us," Snap adds, with a defensive air that clearly includes Kylo just as much as it includes Poe. "No more disappearing off. We find out where he is and we launch an all-out strike."

"Do you think Rey is ready?" Kylo asks, but that's not the question he's really asking. He's really asking if they think _he_ is. 

"She held her own impressively last time," Poe reminds him, aware of the undertones to the question. "And she's made a great deal of progress since then, thanks to your training. As much as anyone _can_ be ready for something like this… she is."

He reaches to grip Kylo's hand. "And so are you."

"And when you go," Snap chips in, "all of us go with you. We'll swarm the _Decimator_ with everything we've got and we _will_ destroy it."

"What about the interdiction field?" Kylo asks. "If we go up against it, there won't be a retreat. Not this time. We were lucky the last two times, but we won't get it a third." He holds Poe's hand back, tightly. 

He's afraid. Of course he's afraid. He's terrified witless. But he also knows he needs to do this – for the galaxy, as much as for himself. 

"There won't need to be a retreat," Poe insists. "I may have missed my shot against the Starkiller, but the _Decimator_ … I am going to destroy it."

He's terrified, too. But he's also determined. Determined to do this, determined to wipe this evil from the face of the galaxy. Determined to set Kylo free, and himself, and everyone else.

"I have something that will help with that," Snap adds, with a trace of a smile. "Finn and I have been working on it. We'll tell you more when the time comes, but… it's definitely going to tip things in our favour."

"This is your secret male-bonding activity?" Kylo asks, amused. "I knew you were up to something dangerous. Why the big secret, though? You worried we'll steal your thunder, Snap?" 

"Not at all," Snap answers, easily. "I just like surprises. Especially good ones. Plus I want to get this one fine-tuned before I show it off."

"You better deliver, is all I'm saying," Poe adds, lightly.

Snap holds his hands up. "Have I ever let you down?"

"…No."

"Precisely."

"Fine," Kylo says, with an over-exaggerated sigh. "But if I die not knowing what it is, I'm coming back as a Force Ghost to pester you. Or… Rey. Until you show her." 

"Deal," Snap replies, grinning now. "And… on that note, I'd better go tell Jess about Akiva, and how I'm on the ground team, and…"

"Seriously, Snap, she'll understand," Poe insists, and then claps him on the shoulder. "But, hey, in case I'm wrong: good luck."

"…Thanks," Snap manages. "I'll see you two in the morning."

And, with a nod to each of them, he heads off.

"We should probably try to get some sleep," Kylo says. "…I mean. Eventually." After. He knows Poe understands, of course. 

Poe smiles, and curls in against his arm. "Yes," he agrees. "Eventually."


	48. Welcome To Akiva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return! Work on this insane thing continues (still a little slow, due to Davechicken's broken shoulder, although you'll be pleased to know that things have improved greatly since this time last week!) Today, we bring you some action, as the Resistance moves to take back Akiva.
> 
> Needless to say, the First Order has a surprise or two in store for them...

Three Resistance troop carriers hurtle through hyperspace.

Their destination: Akiva. At the controls of the lead ship, Poe Dameron and Snap Wexley sit side by side, attention on the radio, waiting. They're not far off their destination, but they can't risk dropping out of hyperspace until they know the First Order's Star Destroyer – the _Rectifier_ – has been lured away from the planet.

The silence is heavy.

"I hate this part," Snap says.

"Seconded," Poe agrees. "But it won't be long now. Red and Blue squads should have engaged the enemy by this point. If this is going to work… _when_ this works… we'll hear from them. And then we can make our move."

"Well, we're all ready, aren't we?" Kylo asks the others, lingering in the cockpit. Some stand, some sit, some hold onto overhead strips. 

"As we ever will be," Finn agrees. He looks nervous, but hopeful. 

Rey grips his hand. "We're ready," she says, though it's obvious she's nervous too. Nervous, but determined to do this.

The radio crackles, a burst of static followed by the welcome voice of Karé Kun. "Black Leader, this is Red Leader, do you copy?"

"Copy, Red Leader," Poe answers. "Report?"

"Phase One successful," Karé replies. "The _Rectifier_ is now well out of range of Akiva. You're clear to proceed."

"Nice work, Red Leader," Poe tells her. "Keep those bucketheads busy. We're making our run at the planet now."

"Copy that. Good luck to you all."

"And to you."

The line goes quiet. Snap and Poe exchange a look.

"This is it," Snap says.

"This is it," Poe agrees, and then raises his voice. "Everyone hold tight and prepare to drop out of hyperspace."

The ship judders at the sudden deceleration, the white streaking past the window resolving into stars, and the planet lurching into view in front of them.

Finn whistles low through his teeth. He's been to several planets, but he's never been in the cockpit just before a battle. "So that's Akiva."

"In the – well – flesh," Kylo agrees. "Take us as close as we can get to where the chatter is, and we'll carve our way through the opposition." 

"Gladly," Poe answers. "We'll come up on Myrra and find the best place to put down. Snap, keep scanning the surface, and watch for any signs of surface-to-air emplacements. Last thing we want is them shooting us out of the sky."

"Yeah, you're not getting any points if you lose another ship," Snap reminds him.

"Well _thank you_ for the encouragement, Captain."

"…Are you two like this all the time?" Rey asks.

"…All the time, yeah," Poe concedes. "Here we go…"

And they start swooping in on the planet, the sun-bathed surface now filling their whole field of view, and the capital city of Myrra growing larger and larger as they descend. The ship starts to shake as they hit atmosphere, and both pilots act to compensate for it, trying to keep the ride as smooth as possible.

Once they land, Kylo is at the hangar door first, even though there won't be anyone firing at them right here, he still wants to make sure he scans the area before he lets the others out into the air. 

"We're clear," he calls back, even though everyone is just steps behind him. 

Poe is at his side in seconds, drawing his sabre-blaster, ready for this. "All right," he says. "Everyone stick together for now. We made it down without interference, which means they don't have major ground emplacements, but that doesn't mean we aren't going to hit trouble. They know we're here, and they _will_ be coming for us. Stay sharp, and keep your radios on."

He's nervous, though he hides it well. Something about all of this feels… _off_ , somehow. Plus there's the part where ground combat is not his specialty.

But there was no way he was letting Kylo do this alone. No way.

The streets are eerily empty, the civilians long since under-cover. As they get closer to the political centre of the city, though, the air becomes nigh-on electric. As they round one corner, a sudden flurry of blaster-fire catches them off-guard.

Kylo deflects the closest bolts, and freezes the others, holding things steady until everyone (including him) finds cover. "I suppose now we know where no-man's land is…" 

"Yeah, that one was inevitable," Poe replies, turning and firing once he's in cover himself. One of those vivid red bolts catches a Stormtrooper in the distance – who doesn't find their own cover fast enough – and Poe grins. "Gotcha."

"We need to spread out," Snap says, crouched close by and firing around the vehicle they're using to shield themselves from the enemy weapons.

"Agreed," Poe answers. "Take everyone from the second carrier and loop around to the right. If you lay down sufficient crossfire, we can pin them down and break through."

"Copy. You be careful."

"I always am."

And Snap quickly rounds up a number of the troops, waving for them to follow him.

"Rey and I can provide shielding for you," Kylo offers, when Snap heads out. "If you would like to do the shooting part."

"I'm all for the shooting part," Finn replies.

"Rey: you take right, I'll take left?" 

Rey nods. "Understood." She takes a deep breath, obviously drawing her focus together, getting ready to do this. It's one thing to shield yourself, but quite another to shield multiple people at once.

"Everyone get ready to move," Poe says. "As soon as we see the covering fire from Captain Wexley's team…"

Inhale. Exhale. Fire again. And again. The last time he was in a ground conflict… was Jakku. Hopefully this time around, it will go better.

He looks over at Kylo. Wanting to say something, but not sure what. And… then there's a burst of weapons' fire from around to the side, Snap's team having clearly made it into place.

"Go now!" Poe calls out. "Everyone go now!"

Kylo sends out a shockwave of air as he rises, his sabre lit and arcing through the air to catch and deflect any bolts that come their way. This blade – Vader's – hasn't seen combat since before he was born, but it answers to his hand like it was always meant to be there. He takes the higher bolts, where Rey takes the lower, and they push up and towards the front line. 

Vibrant blue rises to mirror Kylo's red, and there are shouts from the Stormtroopers holding the line up ahead of them; shouts of alarm and warning. They keep firing, though – they have no choice about that – and the Resistance team keeps moving forward, the crossfire making it much harder for the enemy to target them.

Harder, but not impossible, and – further away, beyond where Kylo and Rey are shielding them – there's a yelp of pain as someone goes down.

"Show these bastards what we're made of!" one of the other troops shouts, and tries to charge… and goes down too, in a sudden hail of blaster fire.

"Everyone stay together!" Poe calls out, urgently.

Kylo doesn't want to go into over-kill mode, but he also knows his friends and colleagues are in danger. So – with a look to Rey – he lifts his left hand and calls in deep into that place of concern… deep, and then white bolts fly out, and he charges through after the lightning, trusting Rey to mop up anything that sneaks past. 

If the sight of two lightsabres scared the First Order troops, that burst of Force-lightning nigh-on terrifies them. There are shrieks from one or two, and it's obvious that most are ready to retreat, even if their leaders clearly have other ideas.

But when Kylo charges, with Rey following in his wake, the troopers start to scatter, making it easier for the Resistance fighters to start picking them off.

And they do. There's no time for second-guessing. They either shoot to kill, or they die. In the midst of it all, Poe keeps firing left and right, most shots striking their targets now he's closer in. The moment has overtaken, like it does behind the controls of a ship but somehow more _visceral_ , and he can feel what has to be done.

It isn't that he enjoys the killing, per se, because he doesn't. What he enjoys is the _winning_ , and the knowledge that they're pushing forward, that they can do this.

For the cause. All for the cause.

By the time the little pocket is done, the air is full of the smells of weapons discharge and charred flesh. Kylo – black robes whipping around his legs – stands at the highest point, trying to keep himself in check. It's easy to get lost in the heat of the moment, easy to tip over into death for the sake of death… and he tries to drag the memories of the last time he was here to balance himself. The reason this is important, the things he's fighting for.

Finn looks over to Rey, a little smile, checking she's okay.

"How is Snap's team doing?" Kylo's voice sounds a little strained, but he's fighting for control of it. 

Poe hits the radio earpiece he's wearing. "Snap, you copy?"

"I'm here," the Captain replies. "Nice shooting."

"Same to you. Circle around and rendezvous with us. We need to push forward together."

"Inbound now."

Poe looks up at Kylo. "On their way back over," he answers. Suddenly trying to keep himself in the moment, and not get lost in the realisation of how hot his boyfriend looks like this.

He turns to the troops once more, staying focused. "Everyone regroup and check your weapons. We move forward as soon as the other team gets here."

But the words are barely out of his mouth before a huge explosion cuts the air, off to the right, in the direction of the second team. Poe feels his stomach lurch in horror. "Change of plan!" he shouts, already moving. "Follow me!"

No, no, no, not good.

Kylo can run faster than most people, with the Force to back him up. He's already moving to flank Poe and be in harm's way in his stead, his focus sharpening to his other half first, the rest… well. Second. He doesn't even need to consciously think about it, moving himself into position and not second-guessing himself. _Feel_ not **think**. 

"What's going on?" Finn demands. 

"I don't know yet, but it ain't good," Poe answers. And then there's more troopers up ahead of them, and he opens fire again, still running, taking out targets as they charge towards the next square.

Smoke is rising, thick and black, from something in the centre: a vehicle of some sort, though it's hard to make out what it once was from the twisted mass of semi-flaming metal that's left. It was certainly big, that's for sure.

As soon as the worst of the blaster-fire is over, Poe hits the radio again, but all he gets is static. The panic starts to rise, unbidden and inescapable.

"Split up and search the area!" he says, to the troops at his back, and they start moving off at once.

As they peel off, Kylo goes stock-still. Still. And then he turns, and looks at Rey, reading her expression. When she nods, he takes a deep breath. "We're not alone, Poe." 

For a second, Poe's mind doesn't quite catch up with what Kylo is saying, and then it _does_ , and the concern in his eyes gets far stronger. "…The Knights?" he surmises. "How many of them?"

"Two, the twins." Kylo's eyes are haunted, and he takes a deep, slow breath in. He can feel them, in the distance. He knows they will be able to feel him, and Rey, and little else. "They're… in that direction…" he points with the red, humming blade.

"Can you take them?" 

Kylo turns to Finn. "Yes. But I would rather _turn_ them, and this is not ideal." 

"We have to face them one way or another," Rey points out. "If we know they're here… they know we're here."

Poe puts a hand on Kylo's shoulder. "Rey's right," he says, softly. "You have to do this."

His own heart is hammering at the thought. When he planned for this mission… he didn't account for this, and he knows he should have done. But his mind always shied away from the thought – and still is – in the knowledge of what the other Knights represent.

And there's the part where he still doesn't know where Snap and his team are. And that isn't helping either. Suddenly… everything is spiralling out of control.

No. Not out of control. Just… escalating.

They can still do this.

"I need to get to them, and fast," Kylo says. "I can go in on foot, but it would leave you uncovered. And if we could get a ship in there…" He doesn't have to say it aloud, but everyone knows a Force-user is a game-breaker, on either side of the fence. They're the high-priority targets no one wants to face, but everyone knows needs eliminating.

He can sense some of the worry in Poe, and that makes his attention sharpen again. He has to keep it together for Poe's sake, and he pushes a comforting, calming thought in, where no one can see. "Do you want us to split up, and look for Snap?" 

It helps, and Poe is grateful for it. "Once the others get back, we have to stay together," he answers. And he hates that too, but he can't lose sight of the mission. He takes a deep breath, and thinks this through.

They can't have gone far. There aren't many casualties on the ground, which means the rest of the troops must _be_ somewhere, but they don't have time for an extensive search.

He hits the radio. "All teams, any sign of them?"

Static again. Fuck.

"There's some sort of interference blocking our radios," he says. "Which is _not_ helping."

"If you can get me to the relay hub, I might be able to counter the interference," Finn suggests. "Or if they're using the planetside comms channels to flood us out, if you can get me to one of their relays."

"You know how to do that?" Kylo is impressed.

"…few tours with the comms team, yeah. No promises, but I can try." 

Poe claps Finn on the shoulder. "Good thinking. One of the relays isn't far from here. We'll head in that direction, and gather the troops up as we go."

And hope to the Maker that Snap's team had similar thoughts.

They set out towards the relay hub, waving clusters of troops in from various side-streets as they go. No one has anything to report, but they haven't encountered further hostiles either, which has to count for something.

As they approach the relay, there's a sudden loud, female voice echoing from all directions at once, bouncing off the buildings.

" _Citizens of Akiva_ ," says the voice. " _You are under attack by the cruel Resistance. They have come here with no authority, and they slaughter your loving protectors, and your people themselves, where they stand. The First Order will not bow to their cowardly, guerrilla tactics. Do not open your doors to them. Do not engage, unless you are forced to do so. The First Order will protect you._ " 

The announcement stops, a pause, and loops.

"…I really hate her at times," Kylo says, with a growl in his voice. "That's Danika. Lovely to know that they're painting themselves as the victims, as ever." 

"Never mind countering the interference… I want that relay down," Poe says, his own eyes darkening. "If they're going to spout this vitriol, I want them told in no uncertain terms that we won't stand for it."

He turns to the troops, gathered close by again. "We storm the building. Expect resistance, when we get through the doors, and be on the lookout for–"

"All of you, put your weapons down!" comes a harsh voice from up ahead. Several Stormtroopers burst out of the door to the comms relay, and they're dragging people with them, and…

…ah, _fuck_.

It's Snap and his team – or what's left of them – kicked to their knees with blasters pointed at their heads.

"I said, put your weapons _down_!" the lead trooper repeats. "Or more of your people are going to die."

Kylo doesn't even hesitate. He slams his sense of self right into the lead trooper's mind, and before anyone can realise what he's doing, the trooper shoots one of his own men. "You stand down," Kylo snaps. "Or I'll have every last one of you kill each other." 

The shock of that clearly has the other troopers reeling. Several of them try to back off, although the one at the very end fires seemingly without thinking, killing the woman kneeling in front of him.

Almost in reflex, Poe shoots the trooper in question, and then points his sabre-blaster at the man in charge. "You heard him," he all but growls. "Have you _seen_ a Force-user in their stride? Because I have _two_ , and they're still getting warmed-up."

Kylo lifts his left hand, and then _slams_ it through the air, sending every trooper crashing to their knees, and clutching at their heads. Anger and regret fuel his actions, annoyance that he let even one person die. 

Rey moves in at that, her sabre sparkling deadly blue at her side, and she gestures to the still-kneeling Resistance troops. "All of you, get up and move," she says. "Go now, quickly. And all of _you_ ," and here her attention goes to the Stormtroopers, "if you even _try_ to hurt them… Darth Kylo will kill you."

The Resistance troops don't need telling twice. They scramble up and hurry over to the rest of their people, leaving the Stormtroopers still held in Kylo's thrall.

Kylo's eyes flicker sideways. "Do I kill them, or do you want to restrain them?" he asks, though from the tone in his voice he wants one more than the other. Significantly more than the other. He's still causing them significant physical pain, and more than one of them curls up to press their forehead to the ground.

"I vote restrain," Finn says. "Unless we don't have the stuff to do it?" 

Some part of Poe – some deep, dark part that worries him a little – wants to kill them. Partly because they're the enemy, and partly because they've dared to touch his people, and…

…no, no, no, these thoughts are bad, and he's better than this.

He turns to several of his troops. "Take their weapons and tie them up. If they co-operate, don't hurt them. If they resist… do what you have to."

The troops in question nod, and hurry to do as they're told and – for a moment – Poe just watches, and… _that's_ when the relief hits.

He rounds on Snap, all adrenaline and action. "Don't you ever do that to me again!" he exclaims.

"Says the man who keeps stealing TIEs and running off in them," Snap throws back.

"Yes… well… that was tactical."

"So was this!"

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then promptly embrace rather firmly. When they pull back from it, Snap is grinning. "Nice rescue, by the way." He looks over at Kylo and Rey, giving them both a nod.

Kylo is still focussing on keeping the troopers still, until the Resistance soldiers can completely control and restrain them. He vaguely acknowledges their discussion, but he's mostly just trying very, very hard to keep things even. 

"We thought we'd come bring down their jamming – and broadcast," Finn explains. "Guess you thought the same thing?" 

"Got it in one," Snap tells him. "When we realised we couldn't raise you on the radios, we came here to deal with the interference, and… it didn't go so well. Good job great minds think alike."

He headtilts at the relay. "Come on, kid, we can still do this. If nothing else, we can stop them broadcasting any more of those damn messages."

As the two of them head off to work on the relay, Poe goes over to Kylo and puts a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" he asks, softly.

"I let one through," Kylo says, when no one else can hear. It's clear it's hurting him, and from the way his eyes are slightly distant, but his cheeks flushed… "It's… one thing. Controlling yourself in a test chamber, or facing one enemy. When there's this many… I can see, now, why they didn't encourage walking this path for most. Every step is a risk." 

"You saved at least a dozen lives, Kylo," Poe reminds him, softly. "Hold on to that. This… this is war, and in war, people die, and it's _awful_ but it's… it's what happens. We all knew that, when we got into it. And we all _believe_ in it enough to take the risk."

"It would be so easy, though. So easy to just… lose control. Claim it's for good. Claim I'm fighting for a cause… and unleash myself upon them all. I could _destroy_ them, Poe. And what's worse?" Kylo's throat swallows, convulsively. "I'd enjoy it. I'd **enjoy** running through them like lightning. And I… I _want_ to." 

"I know you do," Poe tells him. "And, you know what? Some part of me wants you to, as well. There was a moment back then… a moment where I was ready to tell you to kill them. To kill them _all_. But I didn't. And you didn't. The key thing isn't what you want. It's what you _do_."

"…what if I do, though? What if they hurt you, or Rey, or Snap, or Finn? What if they hurt you, and I lose control?" Kylo swallows even harder, his throat feeling tight at the thought of it. "I can't keep you all safe, all of the time." 

"You don't have to. We're all in this together. We keep _each other_ safe. That's what it means, to fight as a team."

It dawns on Poe that Kylo has never actually had to do anything like this before. Not with people he truly cares about. He grips the other man's hand tight, pulling it in against his own chest. "I'm here for you. Don't forget that. You aren't facing this alone."

"In a way it would be easier if I was," Kylo says, and leans in to kiss his forehead. "But I'm stronger with you. Eigengrau taught me that, and… Snoke did, too. You are what makes me strong, Poe. You." 

"Then I'll keep making you strong. I'll make you _unstoppable_."

At this point, there's some heavy clunking and whirring from the relay tower, and Poe can suddenly hear the static lift from his radio. Seconds later, Snap and Finn come heading over, looking pleased with themselves.

"The dream team came through for you again, Dameron," Snap says, easily, clapping Finn on the shoulder. "The interference is down, and they won't be making any more of those broadcasts any time soon."

Poe nods. "Nice work, you two."

"Now I need to get to the centre, with Rey," Kylo says. "I need to stop Danika and Daria. They will be… they will do anything it takes, and it won't matter to them if they execute every civilian they have, until we surrender."

"You know where they are?" the ex-trooper asks.

"Get me close enough and I'll know for certain." 

"All right," Poe starts off. "Everyone re-group. We're going to move on the Senate Chamber. We get close to it, get it surrounded, set up a perimeter, and then… a small group of us will go inside."

"We need a way to get the civilians out," Snap says. "They must have at least half of the whole political elite in there, and much as I can't stand most of 'em, the planet will go to hell if they die. So… we gotta get them out."

"What about a ship?" Rey suggests, obviously thinking fast. "If we brought one of the carriers in close, we could load it up and use it to lift those people out of harm's way."

"That should work, if we can keep away from their anti-aircraft weapons?" Kylo asks, looking over at Poe and Snap. "Can we make it work?" 

Because he also wants to save as many civilians as possible. If they don't, they'll be barely better than the First Order, and just reinforce the shitty rhetoric they're pedalling, now. 

"We can make it work," Poe replies, nodding, liking the idea. "Yes. I know we can. Half of us stay here to hold the perimeter, and the rest of us get back to the ship and charge their lines in it. We get close, unload our people to fight, and then herd as many of the civilians on board as possible."

"Sounds like a plan," Snap concurs.

"Right. Everyone from the third carrier, hold the line here, and make _sure_ this relay tower stays out of their hands. Everyone else, back to the ship. Let's move out."

The trip back is less eventful, because the majority of the conflict is at the front lines. Still, they're cautious as they get to the ship, making sure no one catches them with some fire on their tactical retreat. The troop carriers are bulky and unwieldy in comparison to a starfighter – but they are designed for battle, too. 

Kylo grabs hold of one of the ceiling straps, holding back in the cockpit to allow the pilots to take control. 

"If it comes to it, you can open the doors and let me jump, you know," he tells Poe. 

"If you're jumping, I'm following," Poe answers, firmly. "Snap, I want you to fly this time. I need someone with starfighter reflexes in the cockpit, but it can't be me."

Because where Kylo goes, I go.

Obviously understanding, Snap takes the pilot's seat and – for now – Poe takes the co-pilot's seat, and they bring the ship up, roaring over rooftops towards the Senate Chamber. It's a large building, standing tall and imposing in the sunlight, and it's swarming with Stormtroopers.

"Start with a warning shot," Poe says. "And then let them have it if they don't stand down."

"You want me to hang out the back with my sabre?" Kylo asks, with a small grin. "Because I can. Might make a few of them crap their pants, too."

"It would make me crap mine," Finn agrees. "No offence, Rey. But you two are damn scary at times." 

"And you love it," she replies, with a little grin of her own.

"Go for it," Poe cuts across, before this conversation gets any weirder. Or weirdly familiar. Or something. "Show them what they're up against."

And then he turns to Snap. "I know you have no love for Akivan politics, but try not to put _too many_ holes in the building."

Snap shrugs. "No promises," he says.

And opens fire on the Stormtroopers below, who scramble to react to the incoming ship.

Kylo moves to the back, and punches open the hatch. He brandishes his sabre, and parries the volleys he's attracting to himself, and away from more vital parts of the ship. "Bear hard port… that building with the dome… that's where they're at," he calls back, loudly. 

Rey hurries to join him, holding on and sending bolts ricocheting away as well, wanting to be a part of this. Sensing, perhaps, what's coming.

"Copy that!" Snap calls to Kylo, and brings the ship closer to the furthest part of the building, where a large golden dome marks the central senate chamber itself. He swerves the ship around, starting to descend, close to a rather large window.

Well. There are no doors in the immediate vicinity, and they need to get inside quickly. The ship drops lower still, and in a quick burst of cannon-fire, the window is… opened. Permanently.

"Hold this position," Poe says, leaping up from his seat. "We're going in. Be ready for passengers."

And he hurries down to the open rear hatch.

Kylo grabs Poe by the waist, before his lover has a chance to object. Lifts him, and runs down the ramp and lands, lithely, placing Poe down with a surprising level of gentleness as he does so. 

And then the flurry of sabre-sweeping starts in earnest. "They're close by," he says, as he sends bolts flying back towards the senders, making one of the troopers gurgle up a death-rattle in the process. "Let's do this as fast as we can." 

"In through the window," Poe says. "Come on."

Most of the glass is already smashed out – given the cannon-fire – but he kicks through the lingering shards at the base, so they can hurry inside without risk of injury. The building within is impressive, built of some kind of pale-gold marble, and clearly designed to be imposing.

Rey hurries in after him – staying close to Finn as she does – and then stops dead. "…They're close," she says, not needing to elaborate. "They're _really_ close."

"Get behind us," Kylo insists, falling immediately into stance next to Rey. He holds his sabre up, his off-hand ready to wield the Force. "Whatever you do, just-- don't." He knows he's making no sense, but what can you tell a non-Force-sensitive, when they are going to be in a room with two Knights of Ren?

Finn moves to one side, taking cover. "I think I can hear people crying," he stage-whispers. "Poe… should we?" 

Poe's heart is thrumming in his chest again. "Stay back for the moment," he replies. "Follow Kylo's lead. This… is not going to be easy."

He doesn't know how else to put it. He suddenly has to keep reminding himself that this is not the _Decimator_ , and the two Knights are not Snoke. But… even the air has the same tang. The hint of raw power.

It makes his blood cold.

They don't have to wait long. Two black-clad Knights appear at the other end of the long corridor. Although they're dressed differently – their masks quite obviously distinguishable – once you know they are twins, it's obvious. The same height, the same build… even the same basic stance. Two red tongues lick out from their hands.

" _Traitor_ ," the one on the left calls out, her voice ringing in contempt.

"Danika… Daria… this doesn't have to end in a fight," Kylo tells them. 

"Oh, but it does," Danika insists, and runs straight for the nearest – blue – blade.

Looks like a fight is the _only_ way this ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....mwahahahaha, cliffhangertastic! ;-)
> 
> Catch you all on Saturday!


	49. Liberation Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday, everyone! We return with Akiva Part 2, in which you finally get to meet the twins up close and personal.
> 
> We'll be back on Wednesday, when we'll have some news about our next big arc. And when we say 'big', we mean... well. You'll just have to wait and see. ;-)

As the two black-clad Knights charge at Rey and Kylo in a whirl of vibrant red, Poe grabs hold of Finn's arm and pulls him back. "We have to let them do this," he says, urgently, though it's obvious from his voice how much he hates the very thought. "If we interfere, those two will attempt to use us as leverage. Or worse. We have to take advantage of the diversion, and try to get the hostages out."

"…can't we just… shoot them?" Finn asks, clearly upset and distressed at the thought of abandoning either of them. Even to save hostages. 

"We could try, but we risk hitting Rey and Kylo," Poe reminds him, not hiding his own distress. Wanting the younger man to see that he's thinking tactically, not dispassionately. "We have to let them do this, and we need to seize our own moment whilst we can."

Another pause, and then Finn nods. "All right. Okay. Let's go save people. It's why we're here, after all." 

Poe claps him on the shoulder. "Right."

It's still hard to turn away from the battle, though. Hard to pull himself back from that whirl of red and blue, from the need to _do something_ , even with an important alternative to focus on. But, after a moment, he manages it, and leads the way off in the direction of the sounds they heard earlier: the low voices of a number of alarmed, frightened people.

At the end of the wide, imposing passage, they push open a huge pair of double-doors. Beyond is the main senate chamber itself, and it is far from empty.

There's a good fifty or so politicians and other civilians, cowering behind a patrol of at least seven troopers in black on white. They don't notice them immediately, but it's only a matter of time. Especially when the civilians start to react.

Finn drops two of them before they even turn, then dives behind the nearest column. "Let the hostages go!" he yells out. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be." 

"Resistance scum – you won't kidnap these people!" the lead Stormtrooper calls back. 

"Damn right we won't," Poe shouts in reply. "We're here to _liberate_ them. From **you**."

He swings out of cover without waiting for a response, sabre-blaster raised, firing quick and sharp. Two more troopers go down immediately, and then he has to duck back behind another column, weapon held ready, against his chest.

"Stand _down_ ," he insists. "I won't ask again."

"Take cover," the trooper says, and there's a rustle as they grab civilians, pushing them in front as human shields. 

"Please don't shoot!" one woman calls out, terror in her voice.

Finn looks around and sees what's happening, and curses a blue streak. "You really think we're kidnapping them when _you_ are hiding behind them?"

Poe knows they have to take the remaining troopers down all at once, before any of the civilians get killed. Even a single death will likely cause panic, and they won't be able to control this many people if that happens.

He takes a deep breath, looks over, and catches Finn's eye, silently giving him field signals with his free hand, where only the other man can see.

_Go on three. Shoot to kill. Aim left._

Finn nods, understanding the gesture perfectly. He readies his weapon, remembering where he'd seen them, listening for movement. 

"It doesn't have to be like this," Poe calls out, so the troopers think he still wants to talk, and then he starts silently counting with his fingers, signalling to Finn.

_One. Two. Three._

And the two men move like lightning, swinging out of cover all at once. Poe fires right, Finn left, and they each fell a trooper before both shooting the final one. It happens so fast that the three white-clad bodies fall almost in unison, clattering to the marble floor.

"Everyone stay calm," Poe says, urgently, weapon still held ready but trying not to point it at any of the Akivans. "We're here to get you out."

"You **shot** them!" one man shrills out, clearly entirely unused to this.

"They were holding you hostage," Finn says. "We got a ship. We can take you to safety."

"Why can't we just stay here?" someone else asks. 

"Because there's a high risk they'll kill you," Poe replies, trying to stay diplomatic. "Or worse. The First Order doesn't care about your rights, or your planet, or your lives. They just want to use you for their own ends. Now… please… let us get you out of here before someone _does_ get hurt."

There's some muffled disagreement, as everyone looks at the _two_ men. "You can help us? There's only two of you?"

"And beyond that door? We got two Jedi," Finn says. "You know? The kind with the glowing swords? And beyond _that_ we got a ship waiting to take you to safety. With two of the best pilots you've ever known." 

"You have Jedi? I thought they were a myth?"

"Oh, they're real," Poe answers, deciding now is not the time to get into a debate on the difference between Jedi and Sith. "Very real. And very armed. And currently fighting for your lives close by. To say nothing of the swarm of Resistance ground troops providing backup out in the streets."

'Swarm' might be a bit of an oversell, but it sounds good.

One young woman walks awkwardly out towards them, her heels clip-clopping over the tiles. "I… I want to go home," she says. "Please. Can you get us home?"

Finn nods. "We'll get you all out of here safely, ma'am. If you'll follow my Commander, here, I'll bring up the rear." 

Once one moves, the others start to take the hint. Poe gestures to the door. "Stay close to me, and close together," he says, and then hits his radio. "Snap, you copy?"

"I'm here," comes the reply.

"We're on our way out with a large group of Akivans. Get ready to pick us up."

"Copy that."

Poe hurries to the door, wanting to stay in the lead. And… needing to know what's happening to Kylo and Rey.

They start to move back down the passageway, towards the unmistakeable sounds of lightsabre combat. Poe tries to keep his focus, but it isn't easy, and he swings out into the main corridor as soon as he can, _needing_ to see.

The battle up ahead is heated, and still going strong. He has just long enough to process that all four combatants are still fighting, and then he has to switch his focus back to the gaggle of Akivans.

"This way," he says, gesturing away from the battle and towards that huge, smashed-in window. "We have a transport ship outside."

Even though they've seen the two Knights in passing, the Akivans have clearly never seen sabre-combat before. Most people haven't. More than a few of them stare in horrified awe, and Finn shoves at the ones trailing the most.

"Come on. We gotta get you out of here," he hisses. "The ship's right there!" 

One of the Force-users – clad all in black – tries to flip over the other combatants and heads towards the civilians. There's a curse, and she's followed quickly after by another, trying to pull her attention back to the main battle. 

As the Akivans start scrambling outside, Poe moves in between them and the lightsabre battle, weapon ready but not raised, fully prepared to open fire if either of those Knights tries to go after them.

Watching is torture. He needs to help, and he can't.

"Keep moving, keep moving," he urges, without turning.

"You face _me_ you **coward** ," Kylo yells at the woman, flattening her suddenly with a rush of the Force, absolutely refusing to let her near the civilians. He doesn't speak to Poe, but he knows Poe will hurry them further along.

"I'm no coward!" the woman spits, prising herself from the floor to face him again.

Finn all but bum-rushes the last two towards the ship, shoving them into the troop carrier. "Should I go with them? Should we both?" he asks Poe. 

It doesn't take a Force-user to see that Poe doesn't want to go anywhere. His focus hasn't moved from the battle, his whole body still thrumming with the need to _do something_ , and it's only an awareness of his own limitations that keeps him from charging in, weapon blazing.

But… he can't intervene. And he has to get these people out. And… damn it, he is supposed to be _leading_ this mission…

The confliction in his eyes is unveiled. "…We should stay with the ship," he says. "We… won't help Kylo and Rey if we linger here. I… come on. Come on. Let's go."

Finn grips Poe's upper arm, trying to reassure him. He pulls him onto the shuttle. "C'mon. They got this. You know they do." 

The people on the ship shuffle anxiously, clearly wondering why their rescuer is lingering. 

"Tell Snap to punch it, then we can always come back," Finn offers. 

Act. Act before instinct takes over again. Still on the rear ramp of the ship, Poe hits his radio. "That's everyone," he says. "Get us out of here, Snap."

"Will do. Hang tight."

And the ship roars skywards, carrying them out.

Carrying them away.

***

Back in the senate building, the sounds of combat still cut the air: red ringing on red, and red ringing on blue. Both sides are well-balanced, and it seems the scales do not want to tip either way.

Not yet.

"You're a traitor!" Danika yells, as she cuts between one then the other. She and Daria move as if they're one person in two bodies. "You run from one banner to the next! You don't believe in anything!"

"I do," Kylo insists, as he deflects a chair thrown at him, and then spirals down with a cut that almost removes Daria's sabre-hand. "I believe in this. You remember the Light. I know you do!" 

"The Light is a lie!" Daria declares. "A lie for children. You showed us the _Dark_ , Kylo. You showed us _true_ power. Why would you run from that now?"

The near-miss clearly rattles her, and she backs off a little, staying on the defensive for the moment.

"I'm not! I told you: I can wield _both_ ," he insists, using his superior height to wrong-foot her, trying to use his blows to stagger and tire her out, too. Spin, flick, slam, shove. He knows their form well enough; he helped to hone it. "The Darkness is powerful, but it is even more powerful when you combine both!"

"You're insane, and weak, and you knew you could never do what needed to be done!" Danika fights with much more speed and vitriol than her sister, and she kicks out firmly at Rey with one booted foot. "But in your place, stronger will rise to true power!"

Rey staggers, but counters the momentum quickly and swings in for another attack of her own. "You don't know what true power _is_ ," she throws back. "You only know the lies and shadows fed to you by the _murderer_ whose banner you follow."

"Sometimes death is necessary to bring about change," Daria retorts. "Isn't that right, Kylo?"

Kylo winces, and the next blow makes him stagger himself, just slightly. "Death for the sake of death is needless. Change doesn't need to be the end of someone." Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben. Ben died, so Kylo could be born. " _Asha_." 

" _My name is **Daria**!_ " she hisses, rage getting the better of her, making her go for him with all her strength. Which, though considerable, is not on a par with his. "I am not _her_. She is gone. That pathetic little Jedi wastrel is _gone_. **I walk free in the Dark**!"

"You walk blind to the truth!" Kylo insists, taking all of her fury with his own, red sabre. "You are half-alive! You are mere puppets under Snoke's control. You will never be free until your _chains are broken_ when you **live for yourselves**! Come with me… I have only ever tried to _save you_." 

" _We don't want to be 'saved'_ " Daria shrieks, though there's grief in her voice now, and fear, mixed in with the rage. It hits her concentration badly, and she takes a sabre-swipe to the upper arm – enough to damage, and to hurt, but not enough to incapacitate – and she howls in pain, left with no choice but to back off somewhat.

"Please," Kylo begs. "Please, let me help you. I want to show you that you can come home. That you can still feel, as well as do good. That you can make your own way through life…" Now she's wounded, he's just keeping her occupied, wearing her down. He could go full-out, if he wanted. Could likely kill her. He has absolutely no desire to kill her, he never did.

"Don't listen to the traitor!" Danika spits, singeing the edge of Rey's sleeve in a near-miss. "He has no faith! He can't even pick a side for more than a few years. What was it, this time? Boogie-monster under the bed?"

"Yes," he says, softly. "Supreme Leader Snoke." 

"He _saved_ us!" Daria insists, her voice shaking from the pain.

"He _corrupted_ you," Rey declares, going for Danika with renewed determination. "But Kylo broke free, and you can as well."

"I saved you," Kylo says, sounding horrified as he does. "I kept you alive. But I kept you in an un-life, a half-life. I'm sorry. I didn't know there was any other way for us to be safe, before… before Eigengrau. But I know it, now. I pushed him from my mind. I can help you do the same, I can help you be _free_."

"We are free!" Danika tries to fight to get closer to her sister. "You're broken and warped by your family! You don't have what it takes to really rule!"

"Nor do I want to!" he snaps back at her. "I want to restore Order. Balance. I don't want to **rule**." 

"Because you're weak!" Daria yells. "Because you don't have what it takes. Because… because…"

She's wavering, from the pain and from the heated exchange, and – even behind her mask – it shows. "D-Danika," she gasps. "Danika… we have to get out of here. We have to warn the others."

And she backs off further, keeping her sabre up, but only to defend herself from any further attacks.

"No! We kill him!" Danika says, her blows coming faster, sloppier. 

"You don't need to run," Kylo tells them. "I can help you. We will welcome you home. Asha. Ava. We will welcome you _home_." 

"Danika, we have to go!" Daria shouts, frantic now. "He's trying to poison our minds. We have to _go_!"

She launches back in, but now trying to get hold of her sister, trying to pull her away, trying to make her run. So they both can.

"Asha – Daria--" both names, whichever she reacts to, most. "Please. Please, I just want to help you…"

Danika clearly doesn't want to surrender, but if her sister is giving up the fight, then she can't withstand her former master, plus a Jedi in training, on her own. "Daria…" She looks over, but she knows, through the Force, that her sister has lost her confidence. 

"This is not over," Danika spits, as she grabs back, and pulls Daria off.

And they run.

Kylo looks after them, torn. "Rey… should…" Should we follow? He turns, and looks for her thoughts. He wants to, but he knows he shouldn't. 

Rey is still catching her breath from the battle, looking a mixture of alarmed and exhilarated. She stares after the two retreating figures, and then shakes her head. "If we follow… this ends with us having to kill them. And I know neither of us wants that. Let them go. Let them go and… think on what you've said."

"You're right," he says, relieved. Having what he knows confirmed, just – that moment of sanity check. "Thank you." 

And he realises that, once, it would have been nigh on impossible for him to run something past someone, especially when his emotions were so hot and heady. "We should spread the word that the Order is in retreat. And then go through this building, liberating anyone else we can find." 

She nods. "Agreed. I know Finn and Poe got a whole bunch of people out, but… there could be more."

And they set off, side by side.

***

It's a little while later.

The worst of the fighting is over, and the First Order is in full retreat. Resistance troops are still on the streets, dealing with the last outliers, but with the senate hall retaken and their Force-using leaders on the run, it isn't long before the First Order survivors have no choice but to pull out.

Back at the main landing zone – which has turned into something of a base of operations for the Resistance fighters – the group of politicians rescued from the central hall is causing quite a scene.

"We didn't _ask_ for this," one of them insists, at the head of the group. "Things were just starting to stabilise when _your_ lot showed up, and…"

"And what?" Snap cuts in. He and Poe are trying to keep things under control, but it isn't easy. "At the first sign of trouble, they rounded you all up and took you hostage! They probably would've started killing you if we hadn't got you out in time!"

"None of this would have happened at all if _you_ hadn't interfered!" another of the Akivans shouts.

"Have you lost your minds?!" Poe says, rubbing a hand over his eyes, wishing this planet wasn't so damnably hot. "They _invaded_ , took over by _force_ , and had you all living under martial law! That's not a state of affairs you want to _uphold_!"

"We just want to get on with our lives! Why does everyone insist on fighting here? We don't care! We don't care who is in control! What difference does it make to us which of you lot is here? The Republic doesn't care for us!"

"Does the Republic steal your children and wipe their minds and turn them into mindless killing machines?" Finn asks, clearly angry, too. 

"At least the First Order had sufficient resources to protect us," someone else shouts.

"And where are they now?!" is Snap's retort. "We took this planet back with three troop carriers and a squadron of X-Wings. It's the First Order that doesn't _care_ enough to protect you. They took this place to make a point, and now it's made, they lose all interest."

"All of you, _calm down_!" Poe shouts, suddenly, holding up his hands. "This is getting us nowhere!"

Which is when the Jedi and the Sith arrive, their sabres turned off, but still in hand. Kylo looks around, sensing some of the tension, and also checking Poe is all right. "Is everything okay, here?" 

The relief hits Poe hard, but he has to keep it in check, not wanting to lose control of the situation. What control he _has_ at least. "…That's a good question," he replies. "There is some _disagreement_ over whether our actions here were welcome."

"That's an understatement," Snap adds. He looks about ready to call the First Order back and leave the Akivans to it. "Apparently we're not listening to _reason_ today."

"You are much safer – and freer – under the rule of democracy than the rule of an insane, murderous psychopath like the _Leader_ Snoke," Kylo says.

"Oh, yeah?" One of the men squares up – or tries to, briefly – "And what happens when they come back, again? And we all get murdered or terrified, again? Why do you all keep fighting? What even is the difference? We just want to live our lives! You've destroyed our entire political district!"

"The Order attacked you," Finn repeats, for what feels like the fiftieth time. "We liberated you." 

"Maybe we'd rather make up our _own_ minds about whether or not we need liberating!"

Before this can get any worse, there's a sudden roar overhead and a ship swings into view – a shuttlecraft – swooping in low. It's painted with Republic colours, but that doesn't stop the sudden stab of worry in Poe's chest.

The shuttle lands, next to the closest of the troop carriers, and the landing ramp drops down, and – almost at once – two figures come hurrying out into the sunlight. One is General Organa, and at her side is a tall man with slightly greying hair, and a very level expression. And though Poe has never seen the man before in person, he knows at once who it is.

Senator Yassen-Ri, the Akivan leader, and their representative in the Galactic Senate.

"General," Poe says at once, feeling suddenly a great deal better. "Senator. The city is secure. Our operations here have been a success."

"Depends on how you define 'success'!" one of the Akivans interrupts.

Senator Yassen-Ri shoots the offending speaker a very unimpressed look. "What _exactly_ is going on here?" he asks, in the voice of a man you do not refuse to answer.

The woman swallows, then stands proudly. "They came and stormed the planet, and the garrison."

"Which, apparently, is wicked and cruel of us," Kylo rumbles, under his breath. "Maker forefend we should attempt to bring back democracy." 

The Senator actually folds his arms, and glares at his own people. "I have been trapped on Hosnian Prime for _weeks_ , because my homeworld – _our_ homeworld – was assaulted by the First Order, and you have the _audacity_ to question those who came to help at great risk to themselves?"

"But, sir, they–" one of the men starts out, though he doesn't get far.

" _But_ , nothing," the Senator says, firmly. "Our friends in the Resistance," and here he gives Leia a subtle smile, and a nod, "did not have to commit their shockingly limited resources to helping us, and yet they chose to. Because of them, we are free of the First Order. And they deserve more than a little gratitude for that."

There's more than a little rumbling, and foot-shuffling, and avoided gazes, then. No one mature enough to really…

"Well, I'm glad," pipes one young man. "I might not remember the Empire, but I've heard stories."

" _Thank_ you!" Finn exclaims. 

"Precisely," the Senator concurs. "I think perhaps some of you forget the atrocities the Empire committed, or what we went through to break free of them. The First Order is the same, under an alternative banner… and a barely-alternative one at that."

He turns to Leia. "We are grateful for your aid. Because of you, democracy will be upheld."

"We were glad to do it," Leia replies. "With your permission, we would like to provide some resources – troops and ships – as a long-term defence. The last thing we want is the First Order coming after you again once we're gone."

The Senator nods. "Of course. We appreciate the help, General."

There's a distinct ' _don't we?_ ' in his eyes as he looks at his people.

"Thank you," someone says. "Akiva is… the constant warfare can take its toll on us."

"The two Knights have fled the planet," Kylo says, hoping to put the nonsense behind them. "There were some of the Order who surrendered, too. I don't know what the protocol is for them. I had them restrained, when they did it in front of me." 

"…There were Knights here?" Leia replies, looking suddenly alarmed, and glancing between Kylo and Rey. "…You fought them." This time not a question.

"The twins," he confirms. He has already told her about them, of course. "They fled when they realised they could not defeat us." 

Leia nods, tight-lipped. "I see. No doubt they have escaped offworld by now." Which, though not ideal, is better than many of the alternatives. "Senator. You and I – and your colleagues – should discuss the long-term situation whilst my people finish securing the city."

Senator Yassen-Ri nods. "Of course." And he and Leia head off to one side, with the Senator waving several others in to join them.

Poe, meanwhile, starts sending teams out to patrol the area and ensure they have the last pockets of First Order troops dealt with. But… something else is weighing on his mind and, as soon as he can – with enough going on that no one will pay him any real attention unless he asks for it – he goes over to Kylo and gently pulls him aside.

"Are you all right?" It's clear he doesn't really mean physically, given that the answer to that part is pretty obvious.

"I… think so. It was… it was not pleasant, Poe, but at least I didn't have to kill either of them." Kylo runs fingers through his hair, looking so very, very sad. 

"If I have to kill them… I don't know if I can bring myself to do it. I don't know if I ever could. And that's going to be a problem." 

"I know," Poe tells him, softly, although deep down he wonders if – when push comes to shove – that might change. And… probably best not to think on whether or not _he_ could kill them.

Because… he probably could. If he had to. Not for fun or pleasure or even revenge. But necessity?

"Do you know why they were here?" he asks, next.

"It is likely that the Supreme Leader suspected I would come back here, and sent them to shore up the defences. Or… Danika herself may have worked it out," Kylo muses. "She was always the more brutally tactical of the pair of them." 

Poe reaches to take Kylo's hand, holding it against his own chest. "I take it she will be the one in charge, now?"

He nods, and then leans in to press his forehead to Poe's. "I assume so. I would have groomed her to be my successor, had I ever had desires to take over the Supreme Leader's role. She is the obvious choice, and Daria would not have felt slighted. She would have supported her."

Poe nods too. "This whole thing with them… it's only just starting, Kylo. It may not look like it now… but we will find a way to get through to them. Even if only some of them listen. We will find a way to save them too."

This much, he is set on. If Kylo could be saved, they can be saved. Though… there is still an element of personal choice in it. But isn't that the whole point?

"You're right. I just hope we can get through to enough of them, in time." The Sith looks up, seeing another pilot making a bee-line for them. "Snap seems to want to bend your ear… or both of ours."

The man in question has just finished talking to someone else – one of the other Akivans – and now heads over to the two of them. He looks… better than he did a few minutes ago, that's for sure.

"The politics on this planet drive me to distraction," he says, with a resigned little headshake. "Good thing General Organa is on such good terms with the Senator. _That_ one was something of a surprise… and, y'know, also not. At least this whole thing worked out. Also…"

Now Snap meets Kylo's eyes. "…Gotta thank you for before. That whole thing at the relay station. I thought I'd blown that one and then…" A wry look. "Well. You Force-users are certainly handy in a tricky situation."

"I told you: we're powerful weapons," Kylo says, with a wry smile. "And if we decide we're going to use it for good… we can be damn near unstoppable." It sure felt better, this time, than the last time he had to use his abilities on this planet.

Snap grins. "I know I feel better with you on _our_ side. You and Rey both. And as for _you_ …" and now he turns to Poe, "…think you'll be volunteering for many more ground ops?"

Poe joins in with the collection of wry looks. "If I have to. But I still prefer my X-Wing."

"Seconded," the other pilot concurs.

"So how'd you enjoy your unofficial homecoming?"

"Honestly? I can't _wait_ to get back to Tahanan."

Though, despite Snap's words, Poe knows the man wouldn't have missed being here for anything. Not given the stakes.

"Well," Snap goes on, "we destroyed the Starkiller, saved Kylo, and now we've re-taken Akiva. Seems like we're on something of a roll."

"…aren't you pilot-types superstitious about… saying things and tempting fate?" Kylo asks, eyebrows arching in amusement. "We shouldn't count any birds before they hatch, you know. We might end up with a baby Rancor, instead."

Poe grins. "One of those might come in handy. We could deploy it in our _next_ ground op…"

"…There is something very wrong with you…" Snap replies.

Off to the side, there's another minor outburst from a couple of the Akivan under-senators. Snap shakes his head. "I'm gonna go calm those two down," he says, in resignation. "Or bury them. Or something…"

And, giving Kylo and Poe a nod, he heads off to be a responsible adult. Or at least something vaguely close.

Poe turns back to Kylo. "I'll be glad when we're home, too," he says, softly, and slips his arm around his lover.

"Let's see if we're needed, or if we can start to sneak off, shall we?" Kylo suggests. "After all, neither of us are politicians, and this is more about them, now."

"Yeah," Poe agrees. "Plus I want a full report on how things went with the squadron and the _Rectifier_. And then… I want to be somewhere peaceful and quiet. With you."

Preferably for some time. There's nothing like a little life-or-death combat to get the blood going.

Amongst other things.


	50. Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, people. We're back, with another chapter... and number fifty, no less. Fifty chapters! Apparently we've had a busy year thus far! Last time around we promised you news on our next big arc, which begins with our next post, this coming Saturday. What can you expect? Perhaps, for now, we'll tease you with nothing more than the name of said upcoming chapter:
> 
> _The Beginning of the End_.
> 
> *matching grins of evil* In the meantime, please enjoy the following. Warnings for consensual non-consent. And a very happy Chapter Fifty to you all... ;-)

It's several hours before the bulk of the Resistance forces make it back to their base on Tahanan.

They hear from the squadron sooner than this – much to Poe and Snap's relief – and the news is good: they've taken minimal casualties and the _Rectifier_ appears to have retreated from the system.

All in all… the mission has been a great success.

Once General Organa and Senator Yassen-Ri have stabilised the political situation on the planet, the main Resistance forces return to Tahanan, leaving a small detachment to provide support to the Akivans.

The homecoming is a jubilant affair, and it soon becomes clear that quite a number of the pilots have plans involving more of Bastian's home-brew and another late night. But… Poe finds himself wanting something else. Something quieter. Something… more personal.

So he and Kylo head back to their quarters just after the sun has set, two of Tahanan's three moons rising quick and bright in the darkening sky. Poe is quiet as they walk: not melancholy, nor unhappy. Just… thoughtful.

He doesn't say much until they've gotten in through the door, and they're alone. And then… then it's clear there's _something_ he does want to say.

Kylo has a hand on Poe's waist as they walk back, feeling the weight of the silence, but knowing it's likely necessary. He keeps the touch there until they're through the door, then he looks down at his pilot. Steals a kiss to the nose, and then tilts his head to one side.

"Are you going to tell me, or do I need to extract it from you with the cutlery drawer?"

Poe can't help a smile at this. "Is that a threat, or an offer?" he says, though right now he's just flirting.

He sighs, not unhappily, just… in preparation, perhaps… and then goes on, "…I think maybe I need to talk about the other night. I know I said I needed time to process it, but… I think now I need to do it."

"It could be either, but I will kinkshame you if you decide the pasta-strainer is the best sexual aid we own," Kylo replies. But then he nods, a little more calmly. "All right. Couch?"

It's clear the taller man is nervous about this, a little… apprehensive. It had been serious, what they'd done. It had crossed some lines, perhaps, but deliberately so. Kylo hopes he didn't do a bad job of it. 

Poe nods. They both kick off their boots and then he drops down onto the larger couch, tugging Kylo in close. The contact feels good under any circumstances – especially with the memories of Akiva still lingering – but if he's going to do _this_ , he needs it even more.

"I… guess I wanted to start by thanking you," he says, softly. "What you did was…" He looks down. Eye-contact is suddenly very difficult. "…It was amazing, Kylo."

"You… didn't… regret it?" Kylo asks. He rarely asks for feedback, after things. Normally he doesn't need to: Poe is demonstrative, and his emotions telegraph down the bond. However, when it's something like 'go too far', then it's a little more difficult to know if it was _good_ too far, or not.

He holds Poe in closely, keeping contact wherever he can, but not pushing him to look up and meet his eyes. Not yet, anyway. 

"The only thing I regret is pushing you to do it when I should have known better," Poe admits, softly. "But the act itself… no. No. I don't regret it. Not in the slightest. If I had _truly_ wanted you to stop… you would have known."

He shivers a little as the memories surface, accompanied by a flare of need that he stamps down because _now is not the time_.

"I… it…" Kylo's tongue fails him, and then he takes a deeper breath. "It was… difficult. Because I had never wanted to do to others what… what he did to me. But that… wasn't what I did to you, was it? It was something different, because… it was something… kind? Not… kind. Wanted?" 

Not that he fully understands. Kylo isn't sure he'd ever enjoy what Poe did, or want to even try having it done to himself, but he can appreciate that Poe has different needs, and drives, to his own. "It was okay. I mean. Like you, I would have made it known if it was too far. I can't say it is the most enjoyable thing I've ever done, but if it makes you so happy, I would do it again, from time to time. If… you wanted me to." 

"I don't know if I could ask," Poe replies. Which is not, of course, the same as saying he wouldn't _want_ to. "I… realised too late what I was pushing you to do. I never meant…"

Deep breath again, and he looks up, meeting Kylo's eyes, even though it hurts a little to do it. "…I _never_ meant to hurt you, to push you into… I…"

Deeper breath. "I wanted to show you how much I trust you. And how the Darkness in you makes my blood burn. How it…"

But this part, he can't quite say, and he falls silent.

Kylo curls a finger and thumb around Poe's chin, lifts his head, and kisses him softly, sweetly. A gentle brush of contact, and another along their Bond. Just to make sure he feels loved, secure, safe. 

"You didn't ask me to do what he did. You asked me for something else, entirely. You _asked_. That's the difference. And I agreed. And that's the difference for me, **too**." His thumb teases at the side of Poe's lips. 

"You can ask me, again. It was okay. It didn't upset me… in the end. I could see how much you enjoyed it, and that made _me_ happy, to do it, for you. You didn't force me, like I didn't really force you. It's… different, when you agree to it, when you consent to it. It's completely different. You see that, don't you? You wouldn't enjoy it, if it was the same thing. So you… you tell me. Please, Poe. You tell me, and you be honest with me, and I will swear on my mother's life that I will be honest with you, too." 

Even the gentle touches make Poe's blood flare with need. He watches Kylo's eyes as the other man speaks, nodding at the very end. "I see it," he says. "And I… I only ever wanted something that was, at a fundamental level, as much an act of love as anything else we do. But I…"

Again, the words won't quite come, and he knows he can't keep doing this. Knows he's just going to have to find a way to say it.

"…I have wanted this from the very start," he goes on, very softly, dropping his eyes now because it's easier, and because he needs to do this. "It… it scares me to admit it, on some level, but… that day, out in the jungle, when you first told me to kneel and I did… I had no idea where it was going to lead. I _hoped_ I'd read you right, but at the same time… I didn't know for sure. I didn't know, and I still did it. I still _surrendered_ , when I had no way of knowing what would happen if I did. You… could have done _anything_ to me. I know, now, that I was always safe, but at the time… at the time I didn't know that at all. And I still surrendered…"

"Poe… you… we know things, deeper down, than we know in the… in our heads. We… know. I knew it was… safe to let you see my past, or we'd never have got through those tests. The Force bound us, even if I couldn't use it, to let you sense it properly. Our connection was there, before we even met, really. And when we did meet, it connected. And it deepened with every day we were together, with… every trust we offered up to one another." He pulls his forehead in, and kisses him, lightly.

"It's not wrong. It's not wrong, to – to know, deep down, beyond thought. Beyond reason, or proof. It's…" Kylo slinks his other arm around Poe, holds him tightly, squeezes at him. "I wanted you, too. I didn't know how, or what way, or what for, or why. I… knew. Something. As deeply as I knew anything. Deeper, maybe, because there was no surface thing to interfere. It's… who we are. Who we are together. And I… love… that. All of it. Even the bits that I don't enjoy sexually, I enjoy in different ways. I enjoy making _you_ happy."

Poe knows this. He does. Some of it he can't quite understand – how do you explain something like the Force when you can't truly feel it? – but he knows it nonetheless. But… there's something more to this. Something he can't…

He takes a deep breath, and slips slowly off the couch, down onto his knees. He keeps hold of Kylo's hand as he does, tugging it in against his own chest, wanting to make it clear that this is not him pushing for something. This… is just what it is.

And right now… the world makes more sense like this.

"Maybe our Bond does explain it all," he says, carefully. "Maybe I knew, deep down, that it could only ever end up this way. That I was safe. That you would never…" He looks away. "…But it still feels like… on some level… in that moment… like some dark part of me wanted…"

"You want something Dark," Kylo agrees, holding his hand, and using his other hand to stroke through the hair on his bowed head. "But you know Dark isn't necessarily _evil_. It's Dark. That's the difference between me, and him. And that's what you want, Poe. Stop equating Darkness with things that shouldn't be."

The gentle hand turns cruel, and drags his head so hard back that Poe's eyes must water. He smiles, the smile very soft. "I wanted you, on my shuttle. I wanted you on your knees. I wanted you on Eigengrau, looking up at me and ready to obey, to submit. I want you every day. Tell me… did I go far enough?"

It hurts, oh yes, but the look in Poe's eyes is more alarm than pain. Because he really, really wasn't pushing for this, though he realises it must seem like he was.

Even though, sometimes, it simply _is_ that the world makes more sense like this.

"Yes," he answers, the pain making the word into little more than a gasp. "B-but… you know I'd give you _anything_ …"

"I know you would," Kylo answers. "And you know the same is true, from me. You know I would give, or take, whatever you needed. Because I love you, and adore you, and I am yours as much as you are mine."

He leans in, nose close to his, and breathes over his face. "My Dark is not split from my Light, Dameron. When I make you suffer, it's from love. And when I make you love, I make you suffer. And that's what you **need** , isn't it?"

Poe's eyes flicker in a complicated mixture of alarm and _wanting_. Because he _does_ want. And need. There's no denying it, not that he's trying to.

He bites his lip, hesitating over the answer for a second, even though a response – and _this_ response – is inevitable. " _Yes_ ," he whispers. Knowing what that one little word will likely lead to.

Kylo speaks where his words will tickle his face. "You're going to tell me something, then. If you want something from me, you have to offer something in return. So what you'll tell me is this: what's your deepest, darkest desire, Poe? What little fantasy have you entertained and blushed from the thought of it? What have you wanted, but never voiced, never asked for, never done?" 

At first, Poe wants to say that what they were talking about – what happened the other night – would be the answer to this. And on some level this is true. He _did_ – he **does** – want Kylo to push him like that. To take it further than what he thought he could handle, to break him down well beyond the point of choice.

But…

Colour flushes his cheeks, and he closes his eyes. And… shakes his head.

And now he knows he _is_ asking for it. But he's not sure he can quite say the words without a push.

He certainly couldn't before.

There's a sudden, fierce, buzzing thrum inside of Poe's head as Kylo bears his will down. Presses in, and makes his mouth hurt, his teeth ache, his tongue heavy. He's going to make him talk, one way or another.

"Tell me. Tell me **now** , Pilot." Harder into his head, making every throb of his heartbeat fill him from head to toe with the pressure of it, like a kettle never boiling over.

" _Oh_ ," Poe gasps, tone a mixture of pain and pleasure, intermingled and inseparable. "I… I…" He coasts the sensation for a moment, but only a moment; the push to _answer_ far too strong for him to really fight it.

But it is not easy. There's a reason why he didn't specifically ask for _this_ the other night. And a reason why it's hard to ask for it now. He manages to open his eyes and look at Kylo again, though somehow it hurts more than the pressure in his head.

"…W-when you first told me to kneel… I had no idea what you'd do. Whether you'd be kind or… or cruel; whether you… whether you wanted me for _me_ or just… just to _use_ me, and I imagine it was that… that you took me for your own pleasure; that… you made me _want it_ …"

He has to look away again now, not entirely sure what scares him the most: the thought that Kylo might not like what he's heard, or the thought that he might _do it_.

The whole point is that Poe has to feel he's being taken advantage of, even if he isn't. It's a fiction, a layer of unreality, of make-believe, in a contained way. If he thinks it through seriously, he'll obviously realise that Kylo wouldn't do this without his confession, and wouldn't do this for the sake of it. That Kylo's always made sure he agrees, that their whole relationship has been one of mutual appreciation and satisfaction and support… but you can make-believe, briefly, can't you?

It does little for Kylo himself. It didn't last time, but this time, it's slightly less off-putting. He can appreciate Poe's genuine, deeper need, and…

He rises from the couch, and drags Poe by the hand in his hair towards the 'fresher room, and slams him, knees first, into the side of the shower unit, dropping him against the tile and forcing him bent over the bath. "You wouldn't be clean enough for me to use, not yet. Your filthy, traitorous mouth needs washing out before I let it _near_ me."

It's weird, dropping into this role. It's as far from what he actually is as he can get, but it's… unreal. A role. A mask, but one he can take off whenever he needs to. He knows that, and he knows Poe could remove it, too, and… he can do this. He can. He turns the water on cold and forces Poe's head under the spray. 

Instinct – more than anything else – makes Poe fight it, but after a moment he has to focus more on not inhaling water rather than anything more complex. It fills him with a sudden shunt of primal terror, which adds to the confusing mix inside his head.

"Please," he begs, going for acquiescence this time. At least, for now. "I'll do what you want. You don't have to…"

"It doesn't matter if I do or not, I'm doing it, and you're going to **deal** with it, Dameron." He keeps hold of his hair, and then sprays into his face, the clean water pummelling his features and his mouth. He keeps it up until he thinks Poe's about to sputter too much, and then he turns it off with the Force and throws him against the door. It closes behind him, locking them both briefly in the smallest room of their quarters. 

"You filthy slut. You pilots are all the same. I bet you're turned on, right now, aren't you?" he sneers. 

Poe manages to catch himself on the door _before_ he smashes his head into it, because _that_ one would be difficult to explain too, and he's not at all sure he'd get away with it twice in quick succession. And then he holds his hands up, still trying not to be provocative.

Still not sure how long he can stop himself.

"I bet you are too. You Dark Side maniac."

…That long, apparently.

"Ah, but I'm not _ashamed_ of my passion, and **you** hide yours." Kylo pushes in, all at once, an intrusion that stings, even through their Bond, because of the lack of care to make it smooth. "You hide your bruises, your lacerations, your badges of honour for being a masochistic little whore. No… whores _charge_."

Kylo walks over, slams his lover's hands up above his head with the Force, then he uses the front of his shin across his throat, slamming him head-back into the door.

"I don't _hide_ ," Poe retorts. "I merely don't feel the need to flounce around in black, _threatening_ people with every other word. I… _fuckfuckplease… please d–_ "

He wants to beg for mercy. He really, really wants to. But his pride evidently has other ideas right now.

"Do you tell all your pilots what I do to you?" Kylo presses on, the leg across his throat bearing down harder. "How you had to be moved away, so you didn't frighten the droids? How you're such a slut for me that you bared your ass before you even saw me eat or drink?" 

Then there's a rake through him, from head to toe. No matter how aroused Poe was before, Kylo finds the thread of it and ramps it up as high as he can, without making him black out. Up and up and holds it there, before turning him completely off. 

It's so much that, for a moment, all Poe can do is try to keep breathing, before all the sensation just drops away and he cries out in shock and anguish.

"You wanted me just as badly," he throws back. Going for broke now, and confident he's going to regret it. "I'm the _only_ one you wanted. You could have taken anyone, and you took _me_. And if you think I'm going to feel guilty about that, you can go to hell."

"I never said you should feel guilty, I said you were a filthy, shameful slut who doesn't dare tell his friends that he can't really get it up without the threat of pain," Kylo replies. "Go on. Touch it. See if it works at all. It **won't**."

It's the mentioning of other people that pushes Poe over the edge. Because… he _does_ prefer to keep this part of his life private, and he doesn't see anything wrong in that. And the pushing… feels like a step too far.

And his mind reacts before he can filter the thoughts.

"…I can get it up just _fine_ without the threat of pain. I did it _regularly_ before you came along. I just happen to have discovered that the pain makes me enjoy it _more_."

A _lot_ more. So much that he's not sure how it took him this long to work it out. But… this is hardly the time to dwell on that.

"Go on, then," Kylo chides him, and makes his hand move to his groin. Makes him curl his fingers around his flaccid dick, through his pants. Makes him stroke, and keeps the sensation utterly clinical and devoid of any arousal.

"Working, is it? I don't think so. I broke you, Poe. You could never be satisfied by anyone but me, again, and it's time you admitted that." 

"I would have admitted it without the _slightest_ hesitation," Poe throws back, with a touch of hurt in his voice. "And you know it."

He closes his eyes, now trying to shut his mind down. He can only do so much – and he knows Kylo can ramp him back up again with minimal effort – but… well. It's the principle of the thing.

"You know, I bet if I fucked you now, with your dick dead between your legs, you'd find some way to enjoy it. You'd not get aroused, but that sick part of you would love it, and when it was all over… you'd use it to jerk off when I wasn't around. Wouldn't you?" Kylo isn't wholly sure where all this is coming from, but he lifts Poe from the floor, moving him so he can open the door… and he stalks out, dragging Poe with his knees trailing behind him, back into their bedroom. 

"Should we try? See if you keep your brave face in place if you're being used for real?" 

" _Do your worst_ ," Poe retorts, not fighting the movement because it would just be wasted energy. Because he needs to save himself for what's coming.

The thought terrifies him. It really, truly does. The trouble is, the _terror_ excites him. And not all excitement, not all _arousal_ , is a simple physical reaction. Yes, he _likes_ the physical reaction, but this goes so very much deeper than that; a mental reaction that is infinitely more complex.

"Oh, believe me, you couldn't _handle_ my worst," Kylo snarls, his voice low with menace. He grabs Poe by the back of his neck and slams him face-down into the mattress, legs bent over it, ass up in the air. 

He makes sure Poe won't be able to move, using the Force to pin his wrists together over the small of his back. Then he grabs his pants and shoves them – and his boxers – down. A firm hand slaps one cheek, then the other, seeing the slight wobble of the tense muscle and skin. "How many times have you got hard thinking about me taking you against your own will, Dameron?"

_A lot_ , is the honest answer to this. Poe hasn't _acted_ on it – because he swore at the very start of this that he wouldn't – but that doesn't mean the thoughts haven't been there. And he has a pretty active imagination.

He's not entirely sure what it means that he _does_ fantasise about this sort of thing, though. It's one thing to want your partner to hurt you, or restrain you, but it's quite another to want…

…OK, no, stay away from _that_ word…

"I don't keep count," he says, as levelly as he can. Which is not levelly at all.

"And before that day, in the woods, did you ever want to be taken against your will?" Kylo asks, and swipes two fingers between his butt-cheeks. Again, harder, dragging against his hole. It will still feel physically pleasurable, just without the added, sexual element to it. 

"Did you have little fantasies you didn't dare admit, or was it when you met me that you knew you wanted me, whatever way you could get me?"

"I didn't know I wanted any of it before I met you," Poe answers, quietly. "I wasn't lying about that. I wasn't lying about any of it. I had no idea what I was missing until you came along."

He tries – more on instinct than anything else – to struggle against the way he's held, the way he's _touched_ , but he already knows it won't make a difference, and after a moment he stops, going more compliant beneath the other man.

Kylo reaches his other hand to bring the lube bottle flying closer. He pours it into a puddle at the top of Poe's ass, and lets it dribble everywhere. Those fingers swirl in the goop, then he pushes them lower and jabs his middle finger all the way in. He makes sure he doesn't injure him, but it's not exactly gentle.

"And have you wanted anyone else to do this to you, since? Any fantasy men I should be killing?"

" _Never_ ," Poe chokes out, hurt by the mere insinuation. "Only you. Only ever you. Question my desires, my motivations, my secrets, sure… but don't _ever_ question my loyalties."

Possibly his tone is sharper than it should be. Possibly he doesn't care.

The finger in him swirls, finding his prostate and rubbing over it. He makes sure Poe can feel it, but that the final connection doesn't work. Makes him aware on the pleasures he's missing out on, the bliss he can't have. "Good. You belong to me, and only to me. Your hole is mine. You cock is mine. Your balls are mine. And every. Last. Drop. Of. Pleasure."

With that word, he lets a flare of it jolt through him, then fade to nothing. 

" _Please_ ," Poe cries, his whole body shaking as the sensation hits him like a whipcrack: there, and then gone. The shock of it cuts through the lingering resistance in his mind, and he closes his eyes, pressing deeper into the bed for a moment. "Please. I'll give you what you want. You don't have to… to…"

"I'll take what I want," Kylo insists, and slips a second finger in. He fucks him slowly, spreading and tightening and spreading his fingers again. Scissoring him steadily open, keeping him dampened and numb. "You don't need to give me anything, it's all mine already. And if it wasn't, I'd soon make it mine." 

The third finger goes in, and the fourth threatens to enter him, too, stroking over the spread skin of his hole. A little scrape, and then the very tip slides in. 

The words push Poe far deeper than anything else. The physical stimulus, especially controlled as it is, does a lot, but it's always been the mental side that has affected him the most. He can _feel_ how caught he is, how helpless, but having the fact pointed out to him is somehow so much more effective than the fact itself.

And the fact is pretty damn effective.

"I… I…" he tries, but what _can_ he say? He can't resist. He can't fight. Pleading for mercy gets him nowhere. He is _caught_.

And _that_ is a heady kind of pleasure that is as effective above the neck as it is anywhere below.

The fingers pull out, and then there's a rustle as Kylo unfastens his pants and pulls his cock free. He isn't enjoying this per se, but he is enjoying the distant flickers he can feel in Poe, and he also knows what is coming next. That stops his erection from wilting as he holds the head against Poe's entrance…

…then pushes, slowly, in. Hands on his hips, letting each inch ramp Poe's excitement artificially high. He makes Poe bend at just the right angle, then slams in faster at the end, ramming against his prostate and keeping the pressure up.

" _Please_ ," Poe begs, the sensation sending confusing sparks running through his body, making him tug on his wrists again, even though he knows he can't break free. "Please… I'll do anything… You don't have to… I…"

But the words keep dying on his lips. And… _there's_ that inevitable spike of terror.

"Shut up," Kylo insists, "…or I will shut you up. You lie there, and you take it, like the good little bitch you are. You have no say in this, you have no control. I am in control. I have all the power."

It's weird, in a way, because Kylo absolutely would hate to actually – to – legitimately… rape him. He would. But this isn't, because Poe wants it, because they discussed it, because they framed this, and they both know there's words, there's ways that mean 'no' more than 'no' does, right now. It's a fiction, a fallacy, and it's all for Poe's benefit. But it also reminds Kylo that this isn't who he is, not really. It's putting on a false face, a mask, a role that doesn't fit with who he is inside. And doing it, he can know, for sure, that he would never, ever abuse him. Never.

It isn't who he is, even as he starts to fuck him brutally hard and fast. Lets his mind play Poe's body like an instrument, tugging him inexorably higher. Making him respond how he chooses, making him mad with it. 

Poe nods and bites his lip and goes very quiet. Precisely how long he can manage to do so is hard to say – he does tend towards being vocal, after all – but right now… even his breathing is muted.

What _does_ it even mean that he wants this? Because he certainly does want it. Even through that inevitable terror, he can feel how amazing this is, how the sense of helplessness pushes him deeper. How the proof of Kylo's raw power makes him feel almost insane with need; a need that is about far more than physical pleasure.

It's… about being wanted. Claimed. Taken. _Owned_.

"You want this," Kylo purrs, and he knows it's true. He can feel it through the Bond, that terrible yearning in his lover's heart. "You want to be mine. You want me to take what's mine. You want to know you belong to someone so powerful that even your breath is at his mercy… don't you?"

A sudden pressure across Poe's throat, enough to make him light-headed, and Kylo almost doesn't need to ramp his arousal up in response. He drops down, hands on either side of him, and noses behind an ear. "I bet you'd even love it if my come dripped down your legs and you were left turned on and unable to reach any kind of completion, wouldn't you?"

Poe shudders all over, trying to hold himself together until he has enough breath to reply. "…I'll give you anything," he gasps, by way of an answer; knowing, now, that he's surrendering, that all the fight is gone from him. "You know I will. Whether you take… or _ask_ … it's yours… all yours…"

He closes his eyes, trying to coast on the sensations, but they're too disjointed, too artificial, and he can't, not quite.

"Tell me," Kylo insists. "Tell me that you'd love it, no matter what. Tell me that you'd be happy with whatever I decided. Tell me that you don't matter, except when I choose to let you matter," he pushes, making sure the arousal peaks with each rude, rough slam against and into him. "Tell me you are only what I choose to let you be."

"You know I would," Poe replies, voice shaking. He's on the point of tears, but they're not necessarily bad ones. Not at all. "Why else would I have dropped to my knees in that jungle? I gave myself to you. I gave myself to you, knowing you could break me utterly. Knowing it might end with me face-down in the grass and screaming. Knowing it might lead to a cell on your ship. Knowing… that I was already yours, and nothing could change that, and _wanting_ it, wherever it led."

"So… yes. I _do_ love it, no matter what. And I will be whatever you ask of me, whatever you demand of me. And… I am nothing without you."

Feral teeth sink into the back of his neck, a low growl as Kylo moves faster. _That_ he can get behind. **That** makes his blood run hot, and he flares his own love and lust in with the artificial arousal from before, edging Poe right up to that cliff and then throwing him over. He doesn't care how much longer he's going to fuck him, it just needs to be Poe screaming and coming on the bed while he chases the last, delicious threads of his own interest, his own pleasure. 

He doesn't say anything, just forces Poe over and into the pit of post-climactic hollowness. Pushes, and holds him there, for longer than he normally would before he lets go of the chokehold of his mind. 

The sudden, unexpected climax really _does_ make Poe scream, even more than he might already have done. Partly this is from the shock of it, and partly it's in some kind of relief, because he wasn't sure if Kylo would let him come at all. It's quick and sharp, bordering on a strange, delicious pain of its own, and before he knows it the waves have subsided and he's trying to gasp in oxygen.

And it isn't over. He knows that. But all he can do is lie where he is and let Kylo keep _using_ him, the thought alone pushing his mind deeper and deeper. It's easier now that he's come, easier now that he knows he gets nothing more. That he's here for Kylo's pleasure.

"All yours," he whispers, broken, accepting, _wanting_. "All yours."

"Yes, mine," Kylo whispers, his voice a growl of possession and love in one. "Mine. And I love you," he says, right as his own climax hits. He pounds into him with all he has, riding his ass and twitching back after every thrust inside. He doesn't interfere any more with Poe's responses, but he's inside his head, reading them all, making himself known.

Inside his mind, as he's inside his body. A final shudder, a moan, and then he collapses down onto Poe's back, smothering him bodily.

Poe lies beneath him, shaking hard. He's still so tense that the shaking almost hurts, like shivering on a very cold day, and so the warmth from Kylo's body is all kinds of wonderful. But he doesn't dare relax. Not yet.

"T-thank you, Master," he whispers, needing to say it.

Kylo smiles. The tone in his voice is enough of a pay-off, and he loops an arm around Poe's waist, lifting him, and then wriggling them both up onto the bed, lying on one side and spooning up behind him.

"You were so good for me," he murmurs, by his ear. "Was that enough for you, my pilot?"

The words make Poe realise that it's over, that he can finally relax, and the sudden adrenaline crash leaves him gasping out loud, pulling Kylo's arm tighter around him and holding on.

" _Yes_ ," he answers. He sounds wrecked, but in a very, very good way. "Yes. Yes. I… _fuck_ … that was amazing…"

"Shhh," Kylo says, nuzzling him, holding him as tightly as he needs, trying to cover him completely in his arms and legs. "It's okay. You can relax, now. You can relax. It's okay." A hard push through his head, projecting feelings of pride and adoration. "You can relax." 

Even that non-hostile presence in his head sets Poe's pulse racing all over again, making nerve-endings spark throughout his body, warm and bright and wonderful. "I love you," he murmurs. "I love you."

He's still shaking more than a little, though he doesn't even know it; his mind adrift now, tethered only by the overwhelming need to make sure Kylo knows how much he loves him.

Kylo reaches for Poe's hand, wrapping it up in his own, holding tight. "You can come down slowly," he says, very lightly indeed. "Just… let your body come down to normal, bit by bit. I've got you, and I'll take care of you." He kisses behind one ear, watching Poe's mood intently. 

"All I need is you," Poe whispers, holding back just as tightly. "And… I can't ever thank you enough…" He shivers again, lifting Kylo's hand up and kissing his knuckles, then curling in even more.

"You don't need to," Kylo insists, and grabs some covers with the Force. He pulls them up and around them both, and tucks Poe most firmly inside them so he doesn't get cold in the aftermath. "I told you: anything you need, or want." 

"I do. I do. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but it must have been good…"

The warmth is even more lovely, and Poe starts to relax completely in Kylo's arms. He knows – academically – that he's going to ache in the morning, but in this moment he can't feel any of it. All he feels is _right_.

"Do you need anything?" Kylo asks, as he strokes his thumb over the webbing between Poe's digits, still breathing in the back of his neck. "Or do you just need to lie and rest?"

"You," Poe murmurs, soft and fervent. "Only you. Always you." He doesn't think he could ever say it enough, though that won't stop him trying.

A little laugh. "You have me, pilot. Why don't you sleep this off, and we'll talk more in the morning?"

Poe manages a nod, mind sinking faster and faster. "Yes… yes… thank you…"

And, in no more than a moment, he's gone.

***

Poe sleeps the whole night without waking. There's nothing in the galaxy that makes him sleep better than being pushed into _that_ kind of headspace right before he does, and when he finally wakes, he feels very well-rested.

He also aches, but it's the kind of low, dull ache that just feels _good_ , rather than anything else. For the moment, he doesn't say anything, or move; simply lying where he is, enjoying the contact, enjoying the sensation.

_Happy_.

Kylo feels the change in Poe's breathing, the subtle shift when consciousness takes back over. He slides a hand down over his flank, nipping at his ear. "Morning, sunshine."

The touch makes Poe murmur in pleasure, pressing back against him. "Hey," he answers, softly. "You feel _good_."

"Still down under from last night, are we?" Kylo finds Poe's sleepy happiness utterly adorable. "You slept really deeply last night."

"…That will happen if you fuck my brains out," Poe replies, still soft and content, albeit with a matter-of-fact edge to his words. "And… yeah. Just a little bit…"

Try 'a lot'.

"Well, you weren't complaining – much – by the end…" He rocks lightly against the man in his arms, sighing loudly. "You… I…" Pause. "I preferred that, to before."

Poe bows his head, closing his eyes. "You know… you don't have to do any of this if you don't want to," he points out, voice hinted with a touch of guilt now. "If all I ever got to do was merely fall asleep in your arms every night… it would still be more than enough."

"I'm not saying every night… but I at least enjoyed that. And knowing how much you were? It helped." Teeth in his lower lip, a breath. "So we can. Again. Sometime. If you still want to, that is."

"I want to," Poe answers at once. Because he does, and if nothing else he's not going to deny the fact. "But what I want most is you, happy. At the start of all this… you swore to take care of me. And you have. But it works both ways."

"Well, then, we find something to do that works well for me, in return? There's no need to avoid doing things for both of us." Kylo doesn't fully know what, not yet, but surely they'll work something out? 

"That sounds promising," Poe murmurs, curling in more again. "You know I'd do anything for you. I told you… I'm _yours_."

"You could start by taking me out to dinner?" Kylo's never really been out on an official 'date'. Not that the scope here is fantastic, but it's the thought that counts. Right?

That makes Poe laugh a little, not at all unkindly. "Sure, I can do that. We don't exactly have anything fancy… but I was never exactly one for that sort of thing. And…" An idea pops into his head, and he smiles to himself. "…Yes. Dinner, I can do."

"Then I'll hold you to that, Dameron." His tone is light, carefree. He can't help but be happy, right now. It was a good night. It was… more than good, because he even kind of can see how he could enjoy it more, in future, and it makes Poe happy, and means he has a fucked-senseless boyfriend and… yep. Definitely a good day. "I want three courses." Might as well argue down if he has to.

"Three courses, got you," Poe says, now attempting a deeply serious tone. "And drinks. The good kind. Not anything brewed behind a tree. And… suitable after-dinner entertainment…"

"At this rate, people might mistake us for an actual, normal pair of fiancés, instead of two Sith. We'll have bedsocks and an adopted house animal, soon, and his-and-his towels." But he doesn't seem too upset by the idea of more domesticity, quite the opposite.

"Kylo. No one is going to mistake us for 'normal'." Poe grins. "But maybe we can still surprise them a little."

He pulls the other man's arm tighter around him again. "Please tell me I don't have to move any time soon?"

"You don't. Unless you have flying plans I don't know about, we have most of the day to ourselves, for a change. We filed enough reports about Akiva already." Damn reports. He'd avoided them as much as he could in the Order, but his mother would kill him if he did the same, here. 

This makes Poe turn in Kylo's arms, that smile still on his face as he meets his lover's eyes. "Well, then. I should probably find some way to keep you entertained…"

And he ducks down under the covers, to make good on his intentions.


	51. The Beginning Of The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People... here we are. Today, we start the next big arc of this story. The _final_ big arc of this story.
> 
> ...It's a long arc. Don't panic! Plus our sequel plans are already in-depth (we think you're going to approve!)
> 
> And so, let's open with the news that everyone has been waiting for...

The next couple of weeks pass without major incident.

Akiva remains free, protected by a small Resistance battalion, and there's no sign of the First Order trying to make a move on them again. On Tahanan, the main Resistance forces continue their operations, though things are quieter, and perhaps the most settled they've been in some time.

Kylo continues training with Rey. Poe continues teaching Finn to fly.

And then it happens.

Of the two, Poe is the first to find out. He's under his X-Wing, BB-8 close by, when the runner comes from the central bunker, to give him the news. He stands in the cool sunlight, trying to process it, trying to accept what it means, and then… he goes in search of Kylo.

Kylo feels the sense of urgency through the Bond before Poe finds him, and he walks to the living room area of their quarters, waiting for him to show up. He can tell Poe isn't hurt, but that's about as detailed as he can sense, without him being in close proximity. When Poe opens the door, he walks straight over.

"What's the matter?" Kylo asks.

Poe's expression is the very picture of complicated, and it matches the inside of his head right now. He's still not sure how to process what he's been told. He's known this day was coming, known it had to happen, but finding it suddenly upon him is… a feeling for which no adequate words really exist.

He decides he'd better just say it.

"General Organa has called an emergency meeting," he starts out. "We've just had new intel in from Admiral Statura's spy on the _Finalizer_." Pause. Breath. "We know where the _Decimator_ is, Kylo. We found it again."

We know where Snoke is.

Oh, Kylo thinks, and his mind sort of stops on that one word. He blinks, and his eyes aren't seeing anything. He should… feel something, right? Anticipation, rage, frustration, terror, jubilation, hunger? He should feel anything at all? But Kylo doesn't. He doesn't feel a single thing, and that's all sorts of strange to experience. He can tell there should _be_ a reaction, but it doesn't happen.

"We should get to the meeting. Has Rey been informed, yet?"

Poe supposes that the lack of reaction is better than anger or terror or bloodlust. He's still mostly in that phase himself, though traces of fear are creeping in. Well… not fear, precisely. _Memory_.

He nods. "I told them to find her and Finn next. I wanted you to hear it from me, first. And… yes. We should go."

He wants to say something. Something like 'we can do this' or 'soon it might all be over' or even just 'I want to watch you kill that monster'. But… the words don't come. It's like his mind is shutting off the emotions, so he can focus.

"Yes. We need to know how long we have to finalise our preparations." Kylo's voice is clinical; detached, even. "Come on."

Poe steps in and just takes Kylo's hand. Takes it and holds it and doesn't say a word for a moment. Sometimes you don't need to say a word to be understood.

"Let's go," he agrees, and leads the way out into the sunlight, heading up towards the central bunker.

Kylo smiles – very slightly – and the faintest of touches in Poe's mind as he lets himself be taken towards the meeting place. This is it. This is the beginning of the end.

***

The mood in the command bunker is strange when they arrive. Most people are here already, taking their places around the central table, or close by.

Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Several of the attendees glance at Kylo and Poe, obviously concerned about how they're reacting to the news. Remembering, perhaps, the _last_ time they stood around a table like this and talked about the _Decimator_. Remembering where it led.

Rey steps up next to Kylo, and puts a hand on his arm, just for a second. Her own expression is set with determination, with the knowledge – already – of what must surely be coming.

When everyone has arrived, Leia holds up a hand for quiet. "Thank you for gathering at such short notice. I'm sure most of you are well-aware of what's going on, but I will let Admiral Statura explain it from the beginning."

She gestures to the Admiral, who gives her a nod and then addresses them all. "Approximately an hour ago, I received a coded message from Copperwing, my undercover agent still in place aboard the _Finalizer_. It contained the co-ordinates of a remote planet in the Outer Rim – Zekkan, in the Virios system – the current location of the _Decimator_ , and therefore of Supreme Leader Snoke. Copperwing reports that the _Decimator_ is expected to be in orbit of Zekkan for the next three days."

The Admiral pauses, looking around at them all. "We had this window once before and we lost it, due to our own hesitancy. We cannot afford to make that mistake again. I believe it is time to commit our forces to an attack on the _Decimator_. I believe that, before these three days are up, we need to seize our moment, and take down Snoke once and for all."

"Do we have a plan of any form?" Kylo asks. "Because Rey and I need to face Snoke. And other than that, I don't know how you intend to take the ship down. It will not go down easily, not the size and class of it." 

"Not to mention, it's got that damn interdiction field," Han grumbles. "If we go for it, we gotta be prepared to take that out, or we'll be dead in the water the minute we jump in. It'll be a suicide mission." 

"We have a plan, yes," Statura replies. "And, believe me, it has been carefully thought-out using all available intel. And… taking all factors into consideration."

He's looking at Poe when he says this. They've discussed – in the past, on several occasions – how this might work when the moment finally came. It hasn't always been an easy process, but Poe is confident it was for the best. Poe himself hasn't talked about it with Kylo, but… he's made sure the potential plan is as watertight as it can be. As anything can be, when you're facing an Interdictor and a Darksider at the same time.

Statura gives Poe a nod. "Commander Dameron, if you would?"

Poe nods in reply. "All right. The _Decimator_ is a particularly large Star Destroyer with four large gravity-well generators built into its hull, two to port, two to starboard. In order to take it down, we will need to do three things: take out the shields, destroy the four generators, and then go for the hull with everything we've got. But… it's more complicated than that. We also need to get Kylo and Rey aboard the _Decimator_ to face Snoke. We can't risk merely trying to destroy the ship, because there is every chance Snoke will find a way to escape. We _need_ to know that he is dead."

His voice drops a little as he says this, emotion creeping into it, but right now Poe doesn't care. They all know enough about what he went through. What _Kylo_ went through.

"The plan is this," he goes on, feeling the weight of what he's saying. Feeling the hypotheticals slip out into the world, preparing to become real. "To start off with, we just take the two TIE-Interceptors, with the modified friendly signal that Finn put in place. It won't work for long, given that we've used it already, but it should be enough to get one of those Interceptors onto the _Decimator_. On board… will be Kylo and Rey. And… BB-8. Kylo and Rey will go to face Snoke. BB-8 will find a way to access the _Decimator's_ systems, and bring down the deflector shields, plus as many of the external weapons as possible. Meanwhile, the second Interceptor – flown by me, with Finn as my gunner – will go in against the _Decimator's_ gravity-well generators. We'll be harder for them to target, especially when they have to launch all their own squadrons, because as we go in, we signal the rest of the fleet – everyone we can possibly bring – to jump in, and begin attacking the _Decimator_ full-on. Once the Interdiction field is taken care of, we give it all we've got. We _destroy_ that thing once and for all. Kylo, Rey and BB-8 will escape the same way they got on… and then we all jump out of the Virios system and head home."

"You make it sound so easy," Leia says, with just a trace of a smile, albeit a worried one.

"It will be anything but," Poe replies. "There are multiple factors in play, and if we don't get the Interdiction field down before the _Decimator's_ TIE squadrons overwhelm us… we'll be trapped. We've only got one shot to make this work, and we've got to commit everything we have to pull it off."

At his other side, Snap gives a nod. "All in," he says.

"All in," Poe concurs.

"Well, then," Snap goes on. "In that case… I think it's time Finn and I told you all what we've been working on." He looks over at Finn, standing on Rey's other side, and smiles. "Go for it."

Finn looks a little nervous, but he takes a half-step forwards. "You know I used to be one of the First Order's Stormtroopers. I worked in various rotations, and was training to become an officer. One of the things I learned was the technical specifications of the Order's scanners and artillery. With Snap's help, we've modified some of the TIE's payload to create some bombs we think will be harder for them to identify. In essence, it will be like friendly fire to them."

"So they won't be able to target them as easily, and you can bomb the gravity-well generators?" Kylo concludes. "That's… genius."

The ex-trooper ducks his head, just a little. "Couldn't have done it without Snap." 

"Couldn't have done it without you," Snap replies, and he clearly means it. "The fine-tuning in particular is _really_ specific. We've managed to rig up six proton torpedoes to carry the modified payloads, which we'll load into the launchers on Finn and Poe's Interceptor."

"OK, _now_ I'm impressed," Poe says, looking between the two men. "Nice work, both of you."

"I'll second that," Statura agrees, and then nods to Ackbar.

"We will commit every available ship to the attack," Ackbar says. "Nothing will be held in reserve. It is a risk I do not enjoy taking, but we have to utilise all of our resources to increase the chance of success."

"Agreed," Leia says, and then she looks at Kylo, and at Rey. "I fear the two of you face an even greater challenge. Are you ready?"

Kylo glances to Rey – reading her expression – then turns back to his mother. "It will never be the perfect time, but we are much… better prepared, now. I believe we stand the strongest chance we ever have. Rey has been a remarkably quick student. And… you are ready, aren't you?" he asks her.

"Yes," she answers. Her voice is level, but it's obvious she's nervous. Though… what sane person wouldn't be nervous about what the two of them face? "Yes, I'm ready. With Master Kylo's guidance… I know this is a battle we can win."

"All of our hopes will go with you," Leia tells her. Tells them both. "And you will have the greatest pilots in the galaxy at your back. If ever we could hope to make this work… it is now. I know it. I… _feel_ it."

"Yeah. I don't even have the Force, but I got that – you know – pilot thing," Han adds. "We're gonna make it. And you two kids are gonna do us all proud."

Kylo smiles a soft thanks to his parents, and ducks his head. There's no angry rush, this time, no furious insistence. His mind is his own, still, and that's more of a relief than he can put into words. 

"We have a great many preparations to make," Statura goes on. "So… we launch the day after tomorrow, first thing in the morning. And… may the Force be with us all."

"Speaking of…" Kylo turns, slightly. "Rey, Finn, Poe… I would appreciate if the three of you would come with me. There's one final thing to train you in, before we face Snoke. And now is the last chance we have."

Rey nods and looks ready to go, but Poe is obviously a little surprised. "You… need me for this?" he says. Not that he's at all unwilling to help, but he's never really been part of Rey's training. For the obvious reason.

" _I need to protect her mind_ ," Kylo tells Poe, silently, then adds for everyone: "I need my Apprentice's assistance, yes." 

_Oh_. Poe manages to keep his expression level, but it isn't easy. Though… on some level, he's known this must be coming. "Then lead the way," he says, opting not to mention anything else just yet.

And so, as the meeting starts to disperse, the four of them head off together, in the direction of the clearing where Kylo and Rey hold their training sessions. Poe is quiet as they go, wondering precisely what Kylo is planning. He knows Rey is aware of some of what happened, the first time they went up against Snoke, and of course she was there the second time. He also knows that Kylo has demonstrated once before – that first day, aboard the _Millennium Falcon_ – what it's like when someone pushes into your mind.

But… he suspects what's coming will be rather _more_.

When they get there, Kylo takes a steadying breath. "Rey, do you know what the final thing I need to teach you, is?"

It's obvious from the flicker in her eyes that she knows. Oh, she knows. "Yes," she answers, levelly. "You need to teach me what to do when Snoke tries to get into my head."

"Can you even stop that?" Finn asks. "Didn't it take you years to learn how to stop him?"

Kylo nods at the question. "It did, it's true. And it won't be easy for Rey, but she's incredibly strong, and very fast at learning. I also… he started young, with me. I had less natural defences to begin with, and building those up whilst under his control? It was very hard for me to do. But Rey has been free of his influence, and she will have me, there, beside her." 

"And Rey needs to be prepared," Poe adds, softly. "She got away lightly last time because Snoke was distracted by Master Skywalker. But this time… it's going to happen. And… holding him off is essential, because if he gets in, if he really gets in…"

His voice wavers, and he looks suddenly haunted. "…Let's just say you need to stop him before he does."

"He will play upon your weaknesses. The things you are less convinced by, your worries that haunt you in the dark," Kylo starts off. "Those things you don't like to admit. He'll make you think things are happening that aren't. He can push you into a whole other room inside of your own mind, if you're not careful. You have to be prepared to ground yourself in reality, in what you love, in what--" and he looks to Poe, "--you're fighting _for_. So this won't be nice. You will have to give me permission, because I will be going into places you don't want me to see. I will hurt you, and you will hate me, but I am not doing it for malice. I will not judge you for anything I see inside of your mind, and we'll help you come back around after."

And then he pauses. "You may well – in fighting back – end up seeing things I don't want you to, either. So you must be prepared for that, too. But it is the only way I know how to train you. I was never given the tools to fight this off; all I could do was keep fighting until it worked. Here… it is safe to do so. As safe as it can be." 

"You wanted me here as moral support?" Finn asks. "Because this sounds… no offence, but it sounds pretty fucked."

"It is," Kylo agrees. "But it's the least fucked up we can make it." 

"And it's better than the alternative," Poe adds. "Which would be Rey going into this with no defences. Which… trust me… is something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, never mind someone you love."

He takes a deep breath. "Finn… this is going to be difficult to watch. You're going to want to intervene. You're going to want to stop it. But you need to resist the urge, no matter how hard it is. You need to trust Kylo, and Rey, and I promise we will be here for you too, when it's over."

"It's… It's Rey's decision," Finn says, after a pause. "No matter what I think. I know you guys wouldn't do anything to hurt her, I just…" He grabs her hand, pulls it to his mouth, and kisses her knuckles. "I want you safe, Rey."

"And I will be," she promises him, with just a little smile. "I can do this."

And then, resolute, she turns to Kylo. "I'm ready. Tell me what I need to do."

"I would suggest we both give our sabres to our other halves," Kylo starts off. "Not that I expect we'll draw them, but when you're in high alert, you're more likely to flinch react." He unclips his, and hands the hilt to Poe. "And then I need you to find as much calm and focus as you can. I will push into your head, and you need to fight me back, whatever I do." 

Rey nods, and takes her sabre-hilt from her belt, handing it to Finn. The other two back off, giving them space – and making it easier to avoid a flinch-reaction of their own – standing close together on the edge of the clearing.

And, in the centre of the clearing, Rey turns to face Kylo, taking a deep breath. Her expression becomes more level, more focused, as she quiets her mind, preparing for what's coming.

Kylo hates doing this, he really does. It was sort of okay when it was for a purpose (like, say, 'find Luke Skywalker'), but he's never been all that enamoured of the really deep probing. For one, it feels like cheating, almost. Almost. He lifts his right hand, fingers curved, and then shoves at her head in one fierce, harsh movement. He's never thrown quite so much at her in one go before, and the idea is to overwhelm her initial defences, like Snoke might well do. 

Rey actually staggers a little as the wave hits, though she keeps her footing, shock and alarm creasing her face. It may only have been a couple of months since Kylo first showed her what this was like, but he's _much_ more skilled now, and he's trying harder, and the initial onslaught is nigh-on _overwhelming_.

" _Oh_ ," she gasps. "I won't… won't let you…"

It's instinct, more than anything, that makes her speak out loud, because the real battle is all inside.

"You have no choice," he replies, his voice deeper, darker. It is easy for him to do this to others, easier to do it than to resist it. He has always been skilled at trespass, and he hits harder, going for that thread of worry he can feel. The insecurity, the knowledge that he's had years to perfect this, the worry that his old Master will be stronger. He finds that edge and blazes his attention along it. "You can't possibly resist the Dark in me." 

Flickers of memory flare in Rey's mind, stoked into life by Kylo's presence in her head: the throne room on the _Decimator_ , shadowed and ominous, with a terrible, ancient being sitting at its centre. A man who could kill them all – or far worse – if given the chance. Rey pulls the image to the fore, trying to use it as a shield; trying to fight back with something that she knows will affect Kylo even more than it affects her.

"I can resist it," she says, though her voice is shaking a little. "I can resist _you_. **I am not afraid**."

She is afraid, and so is he. Kylo knows this, and he throws Poe into the image. Poe, holding a cross-guarded blade, ready to fight a Sith Lord to save him. Poe, who brought him back from the edge. His hands shake, and he fights back. There's Luke, and he stands beside Rey. He stands beside her, and he tells her that he came _back_ , and then he vanishes and his robes are all that's left. 

"He is still with me," Rey insists, tears in her eyes. "He _is_. I am not alone. I will never be alone again…"

Screaming, suddenly, in her head. The cries of a child too young to understand what's really happening. Bright sunlight in her eyes, as a ship hurtles skywards, a ship that won't come back no matter how loud she shouts; shouts until her throat is raw and her eyes burn from the light and the tears.

"N-no. _No_. I am not alone anymore…"

"He will take everyone you love," Kylo insists, arcing up the sense of solitude, of desertion, of belonging ripped clean. He knows that sensation, he remembers it himself. Having something, and it going. "It will hurt more, because you _had_ it. You will be alone, and no one will come to find you, to save you. You will become his slave, and no one will break you free of his hold."

This is hurting him, too, and it shows on his pale face. He remembers those early days, a child, bathed in blood and sundered from all friends and family. A boy, not grown, in robes too big and a position bigger still. No one to confide in, no one to talk to. Thrown into the role of a Knight when he was barely old enough to survive on his own. He uses that anguish and lets her feel how he felt, lets her know what Snoke can do to her. 

Rey falls to her knees, head back, and Poe immediately puts his hand on Finn's arm. Though… he isn't quite sure if this is to make sure the other man doesn't react, or simply to remind himself why _he_ shouldn't.

Watching this is a special kind of torture. But he knows going through it is infinitely worse.

" _No_ ," Rey insists again. She may be on her knees, but her mental resistance is undimmed. "No. I am strong. I will never be his. I…"

Her voice wavers, the weight of Kylo's onslaught bearing down on her, those images from his past slipping through and hurting her too. And… instinct makes her gather them up, throwing them back, trying to use them as a weapon; trying…

Another flash, in her head. Something he showed her right back at the start, that day on the _Falcon_. The Jedi Temple, full of young padawans, full of Light and hope, barely more than children. Their faces are blurry, but amidst them all Rey finds two she knows, even though she's never actually seen them like this before. Two wide-eyed young twins, bouncing a ball of light back and forth between them.

Asha and Ava. Though… that's not what they call themselves now.

Rey gathers this image up too, and pushes it back with everything she has.

Kylo calls out in loud agony, remembering what he did to them, remembering the two young things, alive and ashen-faced in the glow of his stolen sabre. So young – not even in their teens – holding hands tightly and begging him not to kill them. He hadn't wanted to, he'd wanted to save them, and…

He pushes back, using the very same image against Rey. Two girls, now in black. Young, short, and masked. Darkness swirling around them, and one of them pulls back her helmet to reveal Rey's face. "He will do this to you. He will make you his puppet. He will push the light down inside of you, and he will make you **hate**."

Hatred is easy to find, and suddenly Kylo's stance changes. His whole aura seems to flicker from Grey to the _Darkest_ of Darks. He remembers how he felt when he saw Poe brought to his knees, felt the terror and anguish and disgust and lingering, tainted touch in his lover's loins. He remembers how he hated Snoke for doing that, and he throws Poe out of the image, and offers up Finn in the exact same position. A hand up, and he hoists Finn through the air. Slams him down onto his knees, and though he does nothing to the man's mind, his lips curl back from his teeth, his nostrils flaring, at the very real threat that he will.

" _You can't protect him_ ," he taunts, tone nasty and unlike himself. He's thrown himself as far from the Light as he can, and there's no mercy in him, now. None, though the cruelty is for only the right reasons. 

Poe jumps back when that happens. He's not at all surprised that it has, though on some level he's bracing himself to get pulled into this too. Because… he suspects Rey is capable of it.

"He is **mine** ," Rey retorts, staggering to her feet and holding her own hand out now. The look in her eyes is like nothing she's ever resorted to before, and the Darkness flaring in them is unveiled, and unbidden… and untethered. "He is mine and no one – not even _you_ – touches him. But you know _that_ impulse, don't you?"

Her eyes flick to Poe, and for the barest second she hesitates. But only for that second. And then… then she _slams_ the pilot into the closest tree with the Force. There's considerable strength behind the push, and he gasps at the impact, at the sudden shock of pain, finding himself held in place and a little taken aback by just how strongly Rey can do it.

" _Let. Finn. Go_ ," Rey demands, her voice resonant with the command. A command that, were she not facing down a Grey Side Master, would most likely be enough.

This is going to escalate too far, Kylo thinks, distantly. His attention splits in two – checking Poe is not too hurt – before he rounds back on her, stalking to put himself bodily between her and his beloved pilot. 

"See," he sing-songs. "Look how easy it is to pull your Dark Side to the fore. It's easy, because it's stronger than you are. It's the quick and fast way to power. It's the way to heighten your skill, to fuel your will. But it's also going to _control you_ , and then you will be **his** , and Finn will no longer _want you_."

He grabs the ex-trooper's shirt and jacket collar, drags him upright so his knees are off the ground and his toes trail behind him. Finn can't move, though his eyes look white with fear. 

"If you want him, you're going to have to _come and get him_." 

"It is _not_ stronger than I am," Rey insists. The fear that it _is_ still shines in her eyes, but she's gradually reasserting control again. "I am an acolyte of _both_. I use the Dark. It does not use me. _I_. Am in. _Control_."

And – though it's an agony to do – she turns from Finn, determined not to let Kylo keep using him as a distraction, and _shoves_ back at Kylo with all her mental strength.

"If you use both, then prove it!" he taunts, mocks, loudly. He's trying to get her to engage with the Light in her, even as he's thrown himself as Dark as he can. He staggers a little, but it's not all the way gone. He presses down with the Force until Finn's flattened into the grass, wheezing in discomfort. He's only causing him physical distress, knowing the threat of it is more than enough in this situation. "If you are both, then **show me**." 

He's right, of course. The Dark Side is an insidious thing if you let it be; something that can slip up into your mind and curl around you and make everything seem so easy. Want, take. Fight, win. Need, own. And right now it has slipped up into Rey's mind, making its presence known, offering up all its solutions. All its answers.

But, unchecked, untempered, they are the start of a downward spiral. A dangerous path. A path… that leads to a dark place.

Rey closes her eyes for a moment, and the air itself seems to go still, her mind following suit. And when her eyes open again, the sharpness is gone from them, as it is gone from her tone, as she speaks.

"Let him go. I will not give in to you. Let him go."

"Push me _out_ ," he insists, as he keeps enough weight down on Finn so he can't move, and throws every last bit of himself into her head. He drops to his knees from the effort, and tries not to think about the last time he left his own mind like this. He's barely conscious of his own body, the manoeuvre not as polished as Snoke's, but almost as strong. 

Finn, for his part, simply lies still and tries not to panic. He trusts them both, but it's still disorientating, being utterly powerless. 

For a moment, Rey looks as though she doesn't know how, as though she has no idea how to end this. And then… then her breathing slows once more, becoming rhythmic and regular, like the very heartbeat of the universe.

And then… she _shoves_ with all her might, not physically but mentally. Gathering everything up, every flicker of strength, every desire, every hope, and _pushing_ outwards, with such Force that the trees themselves seem to waver in the mental breeze.

Kylo calls out in pain, and the fact he doesn't really want to be in her head means her desire for him to be out wins. He can't force himself to fight it any more, and his mind slams back into his body like an elastic band stretched almost to breaking, then pranged free. He drops onto his hands, panting, reeling from the effort. 

It wasn't enjoyable. Not in the slightest. He still feels wrong inside from all the Dark, from the artificial way he pulled himself out of shape. It had felt good, of course. Good in that way the Dark always does, but also… wrong. His mouth opens, panting in air, trying to find his own balance again. 

Finn scrambles to his feet, running over to Rey before he glances back and sees Kylo on the floor. "Uh… Poe… is… is he okay?" 

Poe is already halfway to Kylo by this point, throwing himself down onto his knees next to his lover and wrapping his arms around the man. "I'm here," he whispers. "I'm here. You're safe."

His own heart is thrumming in his chest. He knows precisely why this was necessary, why it was _vital_ , but at the same time it was torture to watch. And not at all the kind of torture he enjoys.

Finn's words register in his mind after a moment, and – not letting go – he looks over at the younger man. "He will be," he answers, as calmly as he can. "He will be, don't worry."

Rey throws her own arms around Finn and holds on tight. She's shaking, but at the same time her breathing is very level, Light and Dark interlocked inside her head.

"It – just – hard," Kylo explains, a shudder running from head to toe. He's always been good at mental manipulation, but doing it against another – powerful – Force-sensitive is something else, entirely. He's only really fought Snoke off once, and won, and he hopes to hell he's given Rey enough of a fighting chance, now.

The wash of memories, the pall and pull of the Dark… it makes his stomach swirl. Kylo awkwardly brushes against Poe's mind through the Bond. His touch is unsure and unsteady, his focus and self-control ripped to pieces. He leans in against him, and nods. "If – if you can… do that… when he tries to get in your head. I… I can't show you any more. That's all I know, Rey. It will have to be enough." 

Poe keeps his arms around Kylo, trying to send calming thoughts down their Bond. Trying to remind him that he's safe, that he's OK, that he's not alone. That neither of them are.

Finn holds Rey just as fiercely. "You okay, Rey?"

"Yes," Rey answers. She sounds exhausted, and shaken, but her voice is mostly level. "I'm OK. I…" A kiss, to Finn's cheek, and then she looks back at Kylo. " _Thank you_ ," she tells him. "That was… I can't say I enjoyed it, but I feel better for knowing what it's like."

"You needed to know, so you could… know you could fight it," he says, managing to sit up onto his haunches, an arm around Poe for balance and support. He drops his head onto Poe's shoulder. "You can fight it. Just… hold onto the Light, and don't let him push you too far Dark, and remember what you're fighting for. You can do it. Maybe even better than I can."

"I think… maybe that's enough for today?" Finn suggests. "Maybe we should go and get a drink, walk it off?" 

"If you make sure you take care of her for the rest of today," Kylo replies. "Then: yes."

For once, Rey doesn't insist she can take care of herself. But… she does meet Poe's eyes, giving him the tiniest little nod.

_Look after him too_ , it seems to say.

And then, staying close together, she and Finn head off, leaving Poe and Kylo alone.


	52. In Suspense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations, sentient beings! We're back with another chapter... which we think you might enjoy juuuuuuuuuust a little!
> 
> Join us on Saturday for... y'know what? Let's just leave it at 'join us on Saturday'. Because you should. You _really_ should... ;-)

Once Rey and Finn have gone, and they're alone again, Poe tightens his hold on his lover. "Are you all right?"

"No, but I will be," Kylo says, honestly. "It was… horrible. But it needed to happen. I've… for all I've taken control of your head, you don't… you don't have the Force, and you want it, and I haven't had to fight to stay in control. I haven't… had to act like he would."

Kylo moves, sitting cross-legged, and holds his arms out for Poe to sit across his lap, so they can be closer. "It's so difficult. And… it… I had to call on times I remembered it happening to me. To… you."

Poe curls in as close as he can, holding on very tight. "I know," he says, softly. "I… could feel flickers of it." That had been the hardest part. Though it wasn't easy to watch, he'd trusted Kylo to do it, and Rey to fight it. But the _memories_ …

The thoughts crash in hard, and he remembers what they're working towards. Remembers what's coming. In a few days… this nightmare could all be over.

Or… no. _No_. **Stay here**.

Kylo drops his head over Poe's, curling around him completely, breathing in his scent and heat, and offering as much comfort as he takes. "We'll do it, this time. We'll kill him. Then we'll be free from him, at last. The galaxy will be free from him, and he won't be able to hurt anyone else like he hurt us."

He has to go into it believing he can win, or he knows they'll be doomed. "Not having you there will be… tactically sound, and emotionally terrifying. But I'd rather you weren't there for him to hurt."

"That's how I'm selling it to myself," Poe answers, quietly. "The thought of you facing him without me is… _hell_. But if I'm not there, he can't use me against you. He can't distract your focus. And when he's dead, Kylo… when he's dead, you'll be _free_."

"We both will," Kylo insists, again. "I'll… I'll still have you, through the Bond. If you're outside the ship, I will feel you. But he'll be too distracted with us both attacking him, for him to attack you, I hope."

And then he suddenly panics. "…can Finn take over, if… if… he did get to you, in the ship?"

"In an emergency, yes," Poe answers. "There are backup controls at the gunner's station. He'd probably have to stop shooting, but it would be enough to get us out of trouble. So don't you worry about me. You focus on killing that monster so we can finally put an end to this."

"Okay. Okay, he… right." Kylo breathes out, slower. "He was too distracted with Luke and Rey to pay attention to us, last time. So I think… he will be similarly distracted by the two of us."

"And you're infinitely stronger now," Poe reminds him. "You and Rey both. You can do this, Kylo. I know it."

He presses in to kiss the other man, gentle and light, wanting nothing more than to offer strength and comfort and love.

The Sith pushes one hand into Poe's hair, fingers winding curls around them, and parts his lips the tiniest amount to let him. He slides against his mind again, this time more controlled and less confused. He's slowly coming back to himself, finding his focus, the middle ground he needs.

When the kiss stops, he trails more in an extended smile up from the side of Poe's mouth to the corner of his eye. "I'm so glad I have you, Poe. You do realise you may well have saved the galaxy, don't you?"

"I haven't saved the galaxy," Poe insists. "But I think perhaps I saved you. Or helped you save yourself, at least. And that makes everything worth it."

He presses his forehead against Kylo's, closing his eyes, just letting himself enjoy the contact, the closeness.

"You only need to save one person to make a difference, though. And you've saved more than one person." Kylo chases through his hair, and finds his lover's hand with his free one. Locks fingers tight, and strokes with his thumb. "Whatever will we do, when he's gone?"

Poe gives a wry smile. "We still have to deal with the First Order. They'll be hit badly by the loss of their leader, but I very much doubt it will hinder them for long. And of course you and Rey have a new order of your own to build, to say nothing of trying to help the other Knights of Ren."

A pause. "And at some point, I really have to take you to meet my father. He's going to be… surprised."

"Which part will surprise him, most?" Kylo asks. But to be fair, the rest sounds so much easier, so much more tolerable. Without the shadow of Snoke, surely the Order will fall like the Empire did, when Palpatine was dethroned?

"The part where I'm engaged to a living legend," Poe answers. "And, y'know, the part where I'm engaged full-stop. I don't think he expected me to ever settle down…"

Kylo whacks him on the arm. "Don't you dare. If he doesn't realise how important a galactic player you are, then I will tell him so myself. Though… I'm pleased there hasn't been a long run of failed other men you took home, intending to marry…"

"Nope. So when I turn up with you, the son of his two heroes and a Force-Master to boot…" Another little smile. "He'll know I mean business, if nothing else."

"I'll tell him you're the first non-Force-sensitive Sith," Kylo responds, at once. "And that you were instrumental in saving the galaxy from the Starkiller. And me from the universe's darkest Force-user. And that I love you."

"…Yeah, the Sith-thing is going to be something of a shock," Poe points out. "To him… 'Sith' still equates with 'evil'. So we'll just have to convince him otherwise."

He puts his hands on Kylo's face, stroking softly. "I love you too. And that part will be easy to see."

"I can wear lighter colours when we go," Kylo offers. He won't go so far as Jedi browns, but he's been putting paler greys and some rich, deep, near-black colours into his wardrobe. "If you think that would help. I want him to approve of his future son-in-law."

That makes Poe laugh. "He will, trust me. And besides… you look hot in black."

The flirting is therapeutic. To help the other man come down after what he's just had to do. Obviously.

"…how about… black and a really dark tunic? Or do you actually want your father to panic over your aesthetic for me?" Kylo's smiling widely, now, the fate of the galaxy somehow distant enough to forget, if briefly.

"That works," Poe decides, still grinning. He noses gently up against Kylo's face, kissing him lightly. "I really do love you, you know. More than I can say."

"Is it because of how my ass looks in black?" Kylo asks, and chases his lips for better kisses. "And do I get to pick your wardrobe for the day, too? Something that comes off fast, for when I manage to get you out into the woods?"

"Yes. It is because of how your ass looks in black. Plus that thing you can do where you reduce me to a pleading wreck with nothing but a flick of your wrist."

Poe presses in, obliging, kissing him more firmly and sliding his arms tighter around his lover. "You want me in the woods there, too? Is that how we greet a new planet? Because, if so…"

…we're probably a little overdue with _this_ one.

Kylo smirks. "Is that how you ask for things you want?" The Sith moves to scoop him up in his arms, watching his face. "You want me to take you so deep – _into the woods_ – that no one hears you screaming?"

Poe's eyes go dark. "I want my _extraordinarily_ powerful Sith Master to take what's _his_ ," he answers, unashamedly. Not so much pushing as… being very, very honest.

Which is when Kylo Ren rises, and hoists his pilot Apprentice up. Up, and drops him over his shoulder, ass facing the sky. A resounding slap to it, and he strides further away from civilisation. "I'll show you the _real_ Dark Side," he promises, and grabs at his balls and dick with the opposite hand, making sure he can't wiggle too much, or it will hurt.

Being picked up like that takes Poe a little by surprise, given that he'd expected the opposite; expected to end up on his back. He gasps as Kylo grabs hold of him, not resisting in the slightest. " _Fuck_ , yes," he manages. " **Please**."

Once they're far enough away, Kylo hoists Poe again. Takes him off his shoulder, and – before his feet hit the ground – uses the Force to thrust him backwards against a tree. "Do you remember that night, on Eigengrau?"

From the flash in his eye, Kylo does. He reaches through the Force, convinces a trailing vine-plant to unravel and wind around his lover's wrists, hoisting them above his head.

Poe looks like he might break from happiness alone. For a second, the shock of pleasure at the sudden movement hits him hard – in more ways than one – and he seems almost drunk on it. But then his focus sharpens, and he meets Kylo's eyes.

"I remember," he answers, as levelly as he can when his heart is _racing_. "It was one of the most amazing nights of my life."

"So, pilot… how attached are you to your current clothes?" The smirk on his features grows positively _feral_. "And secondly: **is that how you should address me**?"

Kylo stands ready, poised, his senses flickering out to see what they have to play with. Neither came specifically prepared, but he's good at improvising. Eigengrau taught him that, on top of his Solo family skillset.

The words make Poe drop his head at once, not sure whether he's sorry for the mistake, or glad he made it, if only for the way the correction makes him feel; pushing his mind down into that glorious place where surrender comes as easy as breathing, and twice as welcome.

"I'm sorry, Master," he says. "And in answer… not as attached as I am to the thought of what you might do to me once I'm out of them."

There's no cheek in his voice, though. Not this time. Just honesty.

They don't have the advantage of Kylo's extensive wardrobe this time, but he's sure he can do something to make his pilot half-decent, after. His hand comes up and grabs Poe's throat, slamming his head the brief distance back into the tree-trunk. More vines curl down the tree, grabbing his ankles, spreading them wide. Maybe not as good as rope, but it will do.

Even a Sith carries a vibroblade. Not everything can be resolved with a lightsabre, after all. He flicks it out in front of Poe's eyes, makes sure he's watching… and then snicks the vibrating edge under his shirt collar, and slices up and through the sleeve, all the way up, until it falls apart around his arm. Again, the second side. He lets the blunt edge touch, knowing Poe won't be able to track which side impacts him, knowing he'll think himself cut.

Poe does, and he cries out in shock, turning to try to see what's going on and then dropping his eyes once more when he realises he's been so easily played, trying to slow his breathing back down.

But he wants this. He wants this so badly that his blood is burning for it; so badly that the need fills him up, chasing all the way through him.

"I'm yours, Master," he whispers. "I'm yours."

"Tell me, did you want me to do that? To cut you, in honesty? Tell me, pilot, how deep does your masochism run?" Kylo lets go of his throat, only to yank the front of his shirt away, so he can slice that in two, and let every shred of it fall to the floor.

The question sets Poe's mind racing, and he can't look up. "I… I…" he tries, but the words won't come, and the sudden mixture of fear and _need_ is a hard one to process, even for him.

Kylo holds the blunted end under Poe's throat, the threat clear. It buzzes away, and he turns it so the very point draws a fine line across the sensitive skin there. His hand is steady, his focus keen, and although it must feel like near-death, he's actually avoiding the artery line just in case. It's more for the psychological thrill, than anything else.

And then he pushes deep into his mind, pulling Poe's thoughts even louder to the surface, raking through his lusts, his needs, and… the finest, thinnest slick just below the jut of his collarbone. Enough to cause a sudden dribble of blood, but not deep enough to cause any lasting injury. He is not going to wound him, just… tease him very firmly.

"Oh _fuck_ ," Poe gasps, the world going hazy for a moment. He remembers the way it felt on Eigengrau, when Kylo cut him, but that… that was quick and – no pun intended – sharp, and over before he had too long to think on it. But this… this is as much in his mind as it is his body, and he can feel the way the fear and the need swirl around each other, like clouds in a thunderstorm; ever-changing and insistent.

"Please," he whispers, though whether he's begging for mercy or for more, even he doesn't know right now. " _Please_."

"You belong to me," Kylo tells him. "The Force made you for me. The Force gave you to me. Me, and only me. For now, forever." He's sure of that, surer than he is of anything. He leans in and licks over the open wound, his tongue dragging across the flesh and painting his lips with the thin trail of blood.

"Me, and only me." It's sheer Force mastery that means the next slice – through the fabric of Poe's pants – up to the belt – doesn't permanently injure him. In fact, it doesn't touch at all, but it comes close enough to disturb the fine hairs there. Kylo puts the blade handle in his teeth, then grabs the remainder of Poe's pants and shreds them open around him, tossing them away.

Somehow Poe manages not to cry out at this, partly because he's too shocked, and partly because he knows Kylo won't do any serious damage. Not like that. Though that doesn't mean he can do anything complicated like _breathe_ when Kylo has the blade _there_.

"…You, and only you," he echoes, when he can finally form the words again. "Always. Forever. Yours."

With Poe all but naked, Kylo stands back to examine his handiwork. His Apprentice is a mess, and a beautiful one. Utterly under, and when he bends a finger under his chin to tilt his head up, his attention follows Kylo's command without hesitation.

He's so beautiful like this. So raw, open, vulnerable… him. Kylo could do such wicked things to him, with him, for him. Instead, he goes to the man's left hip. The blade in his right hand, and the sharp point presses in. Slowly, so slowly, barely puncturing the surface tension of his skin, but just. Just. He keeps it in place, letting the vibrations travel through him.

"Tell me who you are," Kylo insists.

"Oh… _oh_ …" Poe gasps, the sensations tripping through him, confusing and bright and terrifying and wonderful. He can't look away when Kylo lifts his head, though it's hard to meet his lover's eyes all the same. Harder, perhaps, than that blade against his hip.

But the question… the question is insistent and sure, demanding his attention and his acquiescence even without a mental push to accompany it.

"I am Poe Dameron… your pilot, your apprentice, your lover… your _possession_."

"And what do you fight for?" Kylo asks, two fingers trailing down from the side of his jaw, pushing firmly over his throat, scratching down his torso as the other hand holds the blade in place.

He knows the answers, but he wants to hear them, all the same. A smile, soft, cruel, loving and _Dark_ graces his full lips, his eyes much older than they should be.

Poe's mind is going more and more distant, the pain starting to blend into something that is still pain and at the same time is something _other_. Something that isn't quite pleasure in any traditional understanding of the word, but still feels amazing.

"…For the Resistance. For the Republic. For _freedom_." All true. All very true, but not the whole truth. Not anymore. "For **you**."

"And why do you fight for me?" Kylo continues, as he scrapes the finest of lines across from Poe's hip, diagonally up, a thin, razor-wire thin scratch towards his navel. He knows the very faint pain will do no real harm, and he knows that the light sting of it, later, will be a minor irritation and a very real badge of honour and memory.

Another press into his mind, making it clear he won't accept anything but full disclosure, edging the pleasurepain thread higher than the injury should warrant. A cheat, but a fair one.

"B-because I love you," Poe gasps out at once, the shock spurring him on even though his thoughts are nowhere near linear anymore. "Because I'm yours. Because I swore I'd die for you, swore I'd _live_ for you. Because you're too important to me to do anything _but_ fight for you… to make your world better. To make it _right_."

His voice is shaking, now; a different kind of honesty slipping through. A _deeper_ kind.

"You know I love you, too," Kylo tells him. His voice a little broken, but only in good ways. "I love you so much. My beautiful, beautiful pilot." The next slash is slightly deeper, the answering downswing to his other hip. Then he stabs the blade between Poe's thighs, missing everything, pushing the blade deep into the tree so only the hilt remains outside.

"I'm going to remind you how much I love you," he says. And he uses his fingernails, digging them in under Poe's bound wrists, scratching four red lines on either side through his skin, to his shoulders, down and over the cut on his collar and over the inverted V on his lower torso. He grabs his hips and holds them punishingly tight as he lets Poe feel his own, rising lust.

That makes Poe cry out again, in pain, in pleasure, in need. He rocks his head back for a moment, the stinging sensations somehow harder to bear than a firm, harsh impact, gasping until he can get his breathing back under some semblance of control.

"Please," he whispers, trying to meet Kylo's eyes again. Wanting him to see how much he means it. "I'm yours. Anything you want. _Everything_ you want."

"Do you think I should fuck you?" Kylo asks, voice level, eyes unblinking. "Do you think you deserve it? Do you think I would enjoy filling you up, making my come drip down your trembling thighs?" Kylo leans in, and his lips graze against the curve of his neck.

"Do you think I should fuck your own come right out of you, like the cockslut you clearly are, Dameron?"

Poe's head drops all at once. "Yes," he says, softly. "Please… Master… I am yours. Take what you want from me…"

He's thrumming with need, now, silently hoping that this is enough.

"You are mine," Kylo agrees. "All of you is mine. From the last perfect curl on your perfect head, to…" And now he slams his palm, flat, against Poe's stomach. Sends a pulse of heat behind it, and in its wake as it slides lower, lower, between his thighs. It pulses like waves into his cock, balls, then against his hole and all the way inside. "…to the dark places, deep inside. The places only I get to touch, to own."

One finger bends, shoving into him, dry. Eyes on his, reading his expression. "Tell me how much you love me."

"I l-love you more than anything, Master," Poe manages, voice shaking from that sudden, sharp intrusion. "More than everything. You… are my world, my life… my… _oh_ … my **reason**. And I would kneel at your feet for _hours_ to prove it…"

"Maybe I should make you do that, sometime. Strip you naked. Open you up, and slip a toy inside you. Make you kneel, ass on your heels, pressing the plug in against that spot inside you. Your cock bound so you can't come, and put your head between my legs. Not allowing you to do anything but breathe in my scent…" The finger bends inside him. "Would you like that, my Apprentice?"

" _Yes_ ," Poe admits, closing his eyes but knowing it won't be enough to hide his reaction. Even if Kylo didn't have the Force, it would still be impossible to miss. "Yes, Master. I would do anything for you. To make you happy. To show you… show you how much you mean to me."

Lubrication is all well and good, but Kylo can also use the Force. He'll get the lube in a minute, but for now he settles on making sure Poe's muscles unclench just enough for him to force a second finger inside him, twisting and turning at the wrist. "Is there anything, short of removing whole pieces of you, that you wouldn't get off on?"

He remembers Poe's list, of course, but he's making a point, not checking for no-nos. Reminding him how wide his net is, now it's thrown open. Lips graze his neck, and a tiny lap of his tongue over the warm skin. "You got off just fine with my whole fist inside of you, after all. I thought you were going to take me all the way to the elbow."

The increased intrusion makes Poe cry out, his whole body shaking as he tries to adjust to it, coasting the waves of pleasurepain that roll through him in response. He looks up again once the initial hit has subsided, and his eyes are hazy as he does.

"I would have tried, if you'd asked," he manages. "I… gave myself to you. I get off on making you happy. On being… _ohfuckohfuck_ … on being **yours** … on being **pushed** … on being _**owned**_."

Kylo can't wait much longer. He can't. He pulls his fingers out and grabs for the lube, slicking all his fingers and then shoving three into him. The knife is still buried hilt-first into the tree, the handle gently still buzzing against Poe's balls. He fucks him rough and hard with his hand, taking every bit of speed and strength he has to do it. And then… slipping in his fourth finger. It won't make him too wide for a tight fuck, but it _will_ make Poe babble louder.

"Going to make you **all** mine," he agrees, licking at a throbbing vein in Poe's neck. "Going to take you so hard you can't fly without a medical cushion. Going to fuck you so hard the trees shake and wish they were Human, to feel like you do."

And then he sinks his teeth into the curve of Poe's neck. Bites down with the strength in his jaw, and suckles for all he's worth as he finishes opening him roughly up.

Poe howls loud enough to startle _any_ wildlife in a not-inconsiderable radius. He tugs hard on his wrists – solely on instinct, and not because he's actually trying to escape – his whole body shaking under the stimulation, under the sensation. Under the sheer _onslaught_.

" _ **Yes**_ ," he cries, in very resonant approval. "Yes… I'm yours, I'm yours, yours to take, yours to own, yours to fuck… _please_ … please make me scream for you, Master."

Kylo doesn't let up on the bite, knowing it's going to go wonderful colours on his darker skin by the morning. Perhaps it will lightly show through the clothes he wears, perhaps not. Kylo would like it either way: a symbol of their devotion, a lingering tenderness after the heat of the moment. He pulls his fingers out, then the vines around Poe's ankles slither up and into the tree, yanking him right off the ground. He's left hanging down, throat out of Kylo's mouth-reach, suspended by all four limbs and facing the canopy above. Warm hands grab his hips, then there's a slow rub against him, harsh cloth against his inner thighs.

"Maybe you should scream first?"

…OK, _that's_ new. And interesting. And… **fuck**. And Poe does scream, simply because suddenly having all his weight suspended from only his wrists and ankles is _surprisingly_ painful until his mind finds a way to adjust to it.

"P-please," he gasps, when he can. If he felt vulnerable before – and he did – it's nothing compared to how he feels now. "Master… please… I need you… I need you…"

A slip of fabric apart, metal teeth unkissing, and Kylo's cock rises to rub where his fingers had been before. Careful little grinding motions, first, feeling the way the swing makes Poe move from his ministrations quite despite himself. He slaps the head at Poe's balls a few times, then… one hand to line himself up, to hold himself in place ready for the shunt first inside. A moment to sigh in relief, feeling Poe's body open around him…

"Scream _louder_ ," he insists, and buries himself to the hilt with both hands on Poe's waist to keep him from flying away.

Which is _more_ than enough to make Poe scream again, in pleasure, in need, in gratitude. And _oh_ , but he likes this. The suspension ratchets the feeling of helplessness up to near-breaking point, and he'd be trembling from it alone. But add in the sudden, firm fucking, and… **yes**.

" _Fuckyesplease_ … Master… I… _ohpleaseohpleaseohplease_."

Kylo's lips curl into feral pleasure, and he plants his feet firmly. He stands still, and uses the vines as leverage to move Poe on and off of himself, instead of fucking into him. It feels weirdly good, using him like a thing, like a toy, instead of doing all the heavy lifting. Over and over onto his cock, impaling him harder with every sweep back. "You feel so good, my pilot, my Apprentice. I would fight for you. I would give you anything you wished, and more. I would raze the galaxy just to cast enough light to see your face by… my pilot, my heart…"

Poe's mind is vanishing fast, now; sinking under the glorious, relentless fucking, long since overwhelmed by it. He loves the sensation of being used, of being here for Kylo's pleasure, and that pushes him deeper still, so much so that he can hardly even hold his head up any longer.

"All I need is you," he manages. "You feel… you… feel… _fuck_ … sogoodsogood… M-Master… please… please…"

He's close. So very close. But he won't come without permission. Not unless he's pushed to the point of having no choice.

"You want it, don't you?" Kylo asks, as he speeds up the slams, the flesh meeting flesh. The swing means Poe curls slightly when he's pulled back, means it's not even a fully straight in-and-out. "You want to come?"

"Yes. Yes, Master. _Please_." To say there's desperation in Poe's voice would be an understatement. By a considerable margin.

"You know I could refuse you, don't you?" Kylo asks again, and a tendril of Force-power snakes around from where they're joined to dripfeed him a warm, soft sensation around his much-ignored dick.

Poe bites his lip. Hard. "Y-yes. And if… if that's what you want, Master… I… I will obey." His whole body shakes harder at the thought, at the terror that Kylo really _might_.

"Even if I do this?" Still bouncing him up and down, revelling in the way his body opens around him, the way he takes every last inch of him, tenses, hugs, loves him in deeper. "Even if I…" And there's a sensation like two hands working Poe's cock, invisible, but real. They twist and turn with effort, gliding over the tip and chasing the moans of pleasure back down again.

" _ **Please!**_ " Poe howls in desperation, the world turning black, and the words no longer going through any kind of mental filter. "Master… please… please let me come… I'm begging you, I'm _begging_ you!"

" **Not yet** ," comes the command, resonant through the woods. It echoes off branches, and Kylo goes faster, harder. He's close enough himself, and seeing Poe so off his head with lust is maddeningly beautiful. Longer. Longer. Long---

" _Come_ ," he thinks into his lover's mind, not even so much of a word as a sense, a thought, a desire. Poe is so beautiful, and so wonderful, and Kylo is so close, but he wants him to come, first. He wants to feel his beloved fall apart, and he rushes into his head to tear down the barriers, muddying _you_ with **me**.

And Poe comes hard enough and fast enough to see stars. He screams again, the sound half pain and half pleasure (but, really, what is the difference?) and _all_ gratitude and relief and lust and love and need. He comes and he comes, shaking bodily, tensing up around Kylo's cock, not even able to _breathe_ until the initial wave of bliss starts to subside.

"Thank you, Master," he gasps, when he finally can. "Thank you… thank you… please take what you want from me… I'm yours, all yours, only yours…"

It takes all of Kylo's willpower to hold himself in check for Poe's climax, to experience it, but not to stop loving him through it. Poe's head is a confusing, visceral, atavistic place, full of carnal appreciation and brute-force love. Kylo drowns himself in it, and then makes sure Poe watches his eyes when he nods. Makes sure Poe sees his expression, before the storm breaks.

"I'm going to," he says, before he swallows. His voice is also broken, broken and utterly blissed-out. He uses him as hard as he can, grunting until his hands are shaking too hard to slam him, and he uses his hips, too. Chases the pleasure, then screams out his own ecstatic cry as he comes, hard, fast, and like a landing with no brakes.

Poe may be already sated, but he still feels a fresh wave of pleasure as Kylo takes him like that, _comes_ like that; pleasure at having caused it. Or… helped make it possible, at least. He falls right back once Kylo's climax starts to abate, hanging limp and exhausted and near-raptured in the vines holding him, his whole body absolutely _thrumming_ with happiness.

"I love you," he whispers. "I love you so much."

This position is probably not the most comfortable, Kylo thinks, so he puts a hand low on Poe's back and pulls him carefully up and against his chest. He stays nestled deep inside him as he does, the other hand between his shoulderblades, the vines slowly withdrawing.

That done, he sinks to sit cross-legged with Poe wrapped around him, and sighs in utter contentment. "I love you, too," he says, against his neck. "Are you comfortable?"

_Oh_ , but that's so very good. Poe curls in tight – or as tight as he can when there's no strength left in his limbs – and closes his eyes, letting himself drift on the feelings, held and safe.

"Yes," he answers. "Yes… I… _that was **wonderful**_."

"I am somewhat worried that you may now be sexually attracted to trees," Kylo complains, gently, as he finds Poe's wrists and rubs and kisses the pink marks better. "Am I going to need to be careful about where I eventually found my Academy?"

That makes Poe laugh, just a little, still clearly, happily out of his mind. "Yes," he answers. "Yes. It needs to be somewhere with trees…"

"…with trees a little walk away, so we don't frighten my students," Kylo counters. "Walking distance, but not screaming distance."

"Mmmmm," Poe agrees. "Yes. That. You should definitely do that. And then me. Against the trees. A lot."

"Poe. How can you possibly think about more sex right now?" Kylo tries to sound scandalised, he really does. "Didn't I fuck you hard enough?"

"Sure you did. But I can always think about it more. Hypothetically. For the future. Because I like it." He pulls back just enough to give Kylo his most endearing look.

"Fiend," Kylo accuses him, utterly fondly. " **Sith**."

"And proud of it," Poe replies. " **Master**."

"I ruined your clothes." Kylo smirks. "Again."

"…It's like you _want_ me naked most of the time." Now Poe is smirking too, though the look in his eyes is still punch-drunk. "And doing it with that vibroblade…" He shivers, _very_ appreciatively.

"I must remember to bring that from the tree," Kylo muses. "It's a nice little blade. You seem very fond of it, too…" A lean, a kiss to his temple, and a tighter cuddle. "You really are incredible, Poe."

"For you, and because of you," Poe replies, softly. "And yes… please do bring it. Apparently I like it a great deal…"

"Any other pointers? Marks out of ten?" Kylo presses their foreheads together, very lightly. 

"Eleven," Poe says, without skipping a beat. "And _please_ suspend me like that again sometime because… _wow_."

"So noted." Kylo wonders why they haven't done it before, actually, but time and tools have been against them. "And if you want to make good on that date we had planned… looks like tomorrow night might… be the time to do it?" Not that Kylo is thinking it might possibly be their last night. No. Definitely not. 

"Yeah, tomorrow night sounds like a good idea," Poe agrees, his voice… suddenly, carefully level. "To give us a good send-off, before we finally end this nightmare. Before we _win_."

There is only determination in his tone, though deep beneath it all the fear is still there. But he won't indulge it. He can't. He has to believe that what's about to happen is _exactly_ what he's been waiting for.

"How are we going to get you back to civilisation?" Because Kylo really has ripped Poe's clothing to pieces. "Should we try to make a loincloth from the bits?"

"…Or you could wrap me in your cloak and carry me. Lovingly. Dramatically. Given that people _probably_ heard some of the screaming again…"

"You really are very vocal. You don't mind being carried in a puddle of your own former clothes?" Because he can totally do that. Easily. No problem whatsoever. 

"So long as you take me straight back to our quarters and not via the mess hall then no, I don't mind. Plus, the alternative involves me wandering around mostly naked and covered in vibroblade marks, and _that_ I would rather not show _everyone_."

"All right. Wait here, while I get everything? And then we can head back. I'll run. We Sith run fast, you know, when we want to." 

Poe grins. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises. " _Master_."

Kylo's smile goes from eye to eye. "Watch that tone, or we'll never get back to where your clothes are, _my Apprentice_." He grabs the remainder of their things, then holds his cloak out to capture his pilot. "It can wait 'til we get back to the room. Whatever it is."

And that sounds promising too.


	53. A Night To Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, one and all, and a very happy Saturday! We return you once more to the action, in which Kylo has a visitor, and Poe has a surprise.
> 
> A _big_ surprise...

It is not quite dark when Kylo feels a familiar tug, a calling. He looks out the window at the darkening, twilight sky and smiles. Of course he'd pick now. He kisses Poe, tells him he won't be long, and walks out to the woods.

Luke Skywalker is already waiting for him when he gets there, and he isn't standing with his back to his nephew, he's looking straight at him. 

"I did wonder if you were hiding from me," Kylo says, gently. "Perhaps not ready to talk to a Sith?"

"Not hiding. The others had things they needed to tell you, first, and Rey needed my guidance. I came because it's time, now."

Patience. A Jedi trait, but one that Kylo can somewhat tolerate, in moderation. A slow process, one many years in the making, but he can understand it a little better, now. 

"I wish you hadn't died," he tells Luke, honestly.

"I know. And I would have liked to see this happen in person, but it was my time to go. My time, the Force's choice, and I agreed to it."

"You held Snoke back, didn't you? So we could escape."

The ghost of his first Master nods. "I did."

"I'm grateful."

"I know, but you needed it. It was the right thing to do. Ben Organa-Solo needed to see it."

Kylo's head lowers. "That is not my name, not anymore."

Luke's voice is kind. "I know. You are Kylo, now. Master Kylo, Darth Kylo. But you were once Ben, and that part of you – that history – is always within you."

"Yes. I was Ben. I am more than him, now, but I don't deny he _was_ me. It just… feels like who I am now is better called Kylo. Ben was a boy, and he – he did not – he did not want what happened to him."

"So Kylo came to save him from himself?"

The Sith nods. "I grieve him his innocence, but when things happened to me… I grew up. In a sense. I became something more complicated. More… hurt, perhaps, but more complicated. To go back to his name would feel like I denied what had happened to me, like I… was ignoring who I had become, and what I had done."

"It is something that shouldn't have happened, but it did. I'm only sorry it took us so long to help you, Kylo." Luke's smile is sad.

"You did your best, which is all anyone can do. I know no one wanted me hurting but Snoke. And now we can learn how to help others, in future. Prevent this happening, as much as we can."

"You have grown up so much. In many ways, I feel there is little left I could teach you."

"Your patience and calm might come in useful," Kylo snarks, with a grin.

"You have just enough to get by, now, I think," Luke answers. "You found your own path, and you will help others to do the same. We can only try to be better than those before us, even by a small amount."

Kylo thinks that's fair. Luke, after all, found out about his abilities at nineteen. He was still a young man himself, and his teachers barely had the time to help him. Teachers who had failed Anakin, and Luke had been the one to save him, in the end. Kylo might have wandered far (far, far Dark), but he's come home sooner. Come home before it was too late. And his family have forgiven him, and he them, and he knows he will do all he can to keep other people safe in the future.

One step, one step and then another. 

"If Ben were still here – if I was still only him – he would…" Kylo hesitates. It's difficult, when you feel like-them and not-like-them. Hard to voice things, to make it make sense. "He would have regretted your dying, as much as me. But he would… have appreciated the sacrifice. Intensely. _Uncle_."

"You – all of you, past and present – needed to see that you were worth it, and you were important, and that you had a future," Luke says. "Because you do. A wonderful future, and I am very, very proud of you."

"Thank you. Although… I do have to ask."

"…yes?"

"You say you can't teach me, but if you have even the _slightest_ advice for facing down Snoke… you know. Even if it's 'block more'…?"

Luke's eyes dance. "Use your lightning. Don't hold back. I've seen how powerful it can be, in a battle. Don't assume he will fight nicely, and do not forget what you're fighting for. Remember those you love, and remember you have a home, a family. Remember that you broke him out of your mind once before, so you can do it again. And know… know that Jedi and Grey Sith alike are watching you."

"So, no pressure."

"You will be fine, nephew."

"When I'm teaching my students from beyond the veil…" but Kylo smiles, and shakes his head. "I'll give it all I have. The galaxy is ready, I think. Ready for the balance. Ready for _Eigengrau_."

"I think you're right. Kylo… will you meditate with me, one final time? I think, at last, that you're ready to do so."

Kylo bows his head. "Yes. I think I am." His meditation is not the utter peace of the Jedi, though. It's the mind sensing wheels and blades and tilting platforms. It's watching the chaos and the motion and emotion, and finding the way through it. He sinks to sit on the grass, folds his long legs under him, and takes a slow, steadying breath.

The Jedi of old practiced Battle Meditation. What Kylo does is a reasonable approximation of that.

***

The next day is a tense one. Across the base, everyone is engaged in their preparations for the upcoming attack. Tech crews move from ship to ship, ensuring every last one is in peak condition, whilst the pilots themselves discuss manoeuvres and counter-manoeuvres. Elsewhere, the logistics teams are on high alert should the unthinkable happen. If the mission fails… they know in all likelihood they'll need to move the base to the new beta site, and quickly.

Poe keeps himself busy all day. If he stops to think for too long… it isn't good. Better to stay focused, to make sure everyone else is ready for this. Plus… he still has tonight to prepare for.

He wants to make it good. A night to remember. The last night, before the end. Before whatever comes next… comes next.

Evening finally sets in, the sun falling low in the sky, blue blending to vibrant, blazing orange, to red, and then to black. Poe stands and watches as the last of the light fades, and then he sets out. He's simply asked the other man to meet him outside the mess hall, shortly after the time that evening meal usually finishes, so that they can be alone for this.

But… he has a few last-minute preparations to make first. Which means that, when he finally goes to meet Kylo, he comes from inside the building, and not elsewhere.

Kylo has dressed smartly, but casually. He's wearing black, because Poe likes him in black. A low-cut shirt, long-sleeved, plain black slacks and a belt around his waist. His sabre is clipped to it, of course, and he smiles when he sees Poe. He's feeling a little nervous, but excited, too. 

"Am I late?" he asks.

"Well, you always did like to make an entrance," Poe says, with a grin, sliding arms around him and kissing him softly. "But no… you're right on time."

He's gone for a slightly darker look himself, thinking Kylo might like it, and trying to prove that his civilian wardrobe contains things other than varying shades of khaki. Although that does mean he has to hope that this particular outfit survives the night.

Kylo kisses him back, and keeps an arm low around his waist, feeling him warm and firm against his side. "You look perfectly edible. Although I'm hoping there's more to eat than just you?" 

"There is," Poe promises. "The very best in Resistance cuisine. And…" He grins again. "…maybe I should show you…"

He steps back, and takes Kylo's hand, leading him inside. It's the main mess hall they go into, though everyone else has long since cleared out, and those last-minute preparations of Poe's are suddenly obvious.

In the far corner, the usual benches have been moved aside and there's a table set for two. Up above it, hanging from the struts supporting the roof, are makeshift strings of glowing lights (and if they look like Poe made them himself this afternoon, it's because he did), along with foliage cut from some of the trees, forming deep-green garlands. It may be a little rough and ready, but it's clear he's made an effort.

Kylo actually… squeaks? Slightly. Very quietly. In delight. He flushes red at the sight of all this work, and he grabs hold of Poe by the waist, hoisting him up to drop kisses all over his face. "It's beautiful," he whispers. "Really." 

Poe blushes a little. "I'm glad you like it. Honestly, I should have done this weeks ago, but… better late than never, right?"

He curls in close, letting himself enjoy the contact for a moment, and then he takes Kylo's hand again, leading him over to the table and pulling out his chair so he can sit down. And… then he drops onto one knee at Kylo's side, kissing his knuckles without looking away from his eyes, a smile on his face. But it isn't like any other time he's done this. It isn't about surrender, or power imbalance, or force (or _the_ Force).

It's simply a gesture of love. And, after a moment, he rises and takes his own seat.

As first 'big' dates go, Kylo is impressed. He knows this isn't going to be an everyday occurrence, but it would also lessen the impact if it was. Instead, he enjoys the lavish attention to detail, and he reaches over the table when Poe sits down. His eyes are bright with soft happiness, and his tongue steals out to lick over his lips.

"I would wait another thirty years if I had to, but I'd rather I didn't," he admits, squeezing Poe's hand. "This is… I don't have the words, Poe. I really don't." 

That look in Kylo's eyes is more than enough. Poe grips his hand tightly in reply. "You're welcome," he says, simply. "Now… can I offer you a drink?"

There's a bottle on the table, clearly Corellian in origin, but obviously wine rather than brandy. Poe pats it lovingly. Given the limited resources on base, it's taken him a while to get hold of it. "Absolutely not brewed behind a tree," he adds. "The real deal."

"You really have gone all out." Kylo is impressed. He nudges his glass closer to Poe, fingers on the base, and tries to read the label. "I'm now wondering if I should have brought you a flower, or something…" 

Poe can't help a little smirk at that. "Well… maybe later you can find me something. Like a tree."

He is only flirting, though that doesn't mean he'd be _opposed_ to the idea if it actually happened. Because. Trees.

For now, he picks up the bottle, opening it with a little flourish and pouring them both a glass, before setting the bottle down again and picking up his glass instead. "To us," he offers, softly.

"If you want me to uproot a tree to present as a love-gift, I will do it." And Kylo would. Even if it would be weird. "And when we finally get a settled, permanent place of our own… we're having a very, very big garden." With trees. 

The Sith picks his glass up, bringing it in for a sniff before he chinks his to Poe's. "To us, and our future," he agrees, before taking a sip. From the arch of his brows, it's interesting. And from the smile when the taste resolves, it's good. 

Poe has a sip of his own. "I hoped you'd approve," he says. "I'm not exactly an expert in the good stuff, but this one looked promising. And I wanted tonight to be special."

He reaches out for Kylo's hand again. There… is an idea sort of forming in his head, very deep down: an idea that has been there for a while, simmering away in the shadows, where he hopes Kylo won't find it if the man happens to slip into his mind at any point. It's… well. If nothing else, he probably needs a little more wine before he'd be daring enough to actually consider suggesting it.

But he doesn't want to give himself away. So, before the moment can seem too heavy, he headtilts over to the commissary's kitchen door. "Shall I go fetch round one?"

Kylo is too busy being drowned in the romance of the night to even think about doing anything but project warm, mushy feelings. He beams like a silly, love-mad fool, and he nods when Poe suggests they start.

"I didn't eat much, knowing we'd be… well. Eating properly. I can't wait to see what you have planned." 

"I sweet-talked the commissary staff," Poe admits. "I figured it would be better than inflicting my own efforts on you. Ooops-we-just-crashed-on-a-deserted-planet cuisine, I can do. Trying-to-impress-my-fiancé cuisine, on the other hand… not so much. Luckily I'm very persuasive…"

He grins again and then leaps up, ducking through into the kitchen and coming back fairly rapidly with a large platter of assorted appetisers: meats, cheeses, vegetables and breads, designed for them to share. He sets it down in the centre of the table and then re-takes his seat.

It is almost a shame to eat this, Kylo thinks. It's been so lovingly arranged that it reminds him of times long ago, when a General-Politician would tote around her small son. "I'm sure it would be better than my culinary efforts. But this… is still really touching."

Kylo gestures to the platter. "May I?"

"Please do," Poe replies. "I've been looking forward to this all afternoon. Especially because lunch consisted of nothing more than two cups of caf whilst I tried to persuade the tech team that the inside of a TIE-Interceptor is _supposed_ to look like that. Honestly, we shoot enough of them down, you think they'd know…"

Then he realises he's rambling somewhat, and decides to try the food instead. And… OK, that really _is_ good. He's going to have to get the commissary staff something else for their trouble.

"What did they want to do to the TIEs?" Kylo asks, around happy chews of the food. He makes a contented little sigh. "And did you try to put more head- and leg-room in for me?"

Because being this tall has plenty of disadvantages. A TIE is more roomy than a Resistance ship, by and by, but it still isn't designed for hefty Sith Lords. Especially ones bearing droids. 

"Honestly, not let me fly them," Poe replies. "At least, not until they've taken one apart to find out all its little foibles. You'd think they _hadn't_ been sitting here for weeks." But he smiles. "I know, I know, they're just doing their jobs. And they don't like sending us out in ships they're not personally confident about. As for the leg-room… turns out the First Order neglected to put in adjustable seats. Which is _deeply_ inconsiderate."

"When we destroy the First Order, and everything is settled, I will be finding a political champion to lobby for height-considerate regulations. In buildings, as well as crafts," Kylo says, nodding. 

"And you've flown them successfully multiple times, including _getting_ them, in the first place. What more do they want from you?" 

"I didn't ask," Poe replies. "Blood, and a promise to stop losing ships, I would imagine. I don't _lose_ them, per-se. I have merely… misplaced a few, of late. Usually I am much more responsible."

He takes something else from the platter, nibbling at it thoughtfully. His mind is racing with _tomorrow_ , but right now he'd much rather think about other things. _Any_ other things.

"So… go on, then," he starts out. "When we do finally have a permanent place of our own… what would it be like?"

"Garden. Definitely. With those trees I mentioned," Kylo says, perhaps a little too fast. "Nothing complicated, but somewhere big enough to train with my sabre. Somewhere close for your craft. I'm assuming you'd want a zippy ship, and one we could both fit in… in this ideal world…"

He fiddles with his food, and he's thought about this a lot. A lot. "Big windows. Lots of light. Big couches. Room for people to come and stay. A bedroom with a big bed with posts on all corners. Maybe… another room. One we don't let visitors see…" 

"Now that, I like the sound of," Poe agrees. "But… what would be in this _other_ room..?"

From the look in his eyes, he has a few ideas. And he likes those ideas most of all. He takes a slow, careful sip of his wine, watching Kylo carefully as he does.

"Nice hooks on the walls. Maybe one of those crosses that seem so in fashion. A bench… apparently one of those swings, as it seems as if you would like it. And not so much a few boxes of things, but whole cupboards full…" He takes his own sip, and looks Poe in the eyes.

"When I got you there, really got you there, and we could take a real break… I'd drag you down to the dungeon and you wouldn't know when you'd see light again. And worse?" He leans forwards, eyes dancing, "…you won't _care_." 

Poe's eyes go dark. "…You're right," he manages. "I won't. Or… not for long, at least."

Focus. Focus. Think sensible, date-related thoughts. Do _not_ contemplate ducking under the table in-between courses. Sensible, sensible thoughts…

"Is there anything you'd like to add to our future home? Artwork? A giant holo-screen?" Kylo is aware he's wound Poe up, and is acting completely demure. Even if neither of them is fooled. He leans over and dabs his thumb to a non-existent mark on Poe's lips. 

"…A large fireplace," Poe answers. Which doesn't exactly restore his focus, but does take his mind down a notch or two. "Old-fashioned, I know, but… I like the idea. Plus, then I'd have somewhere _else_ to snuggle up with you."

And, of course, somewhere else to have rather a lot of mind-blowing sex. Though that doesn't mean the snuggling part would be redundant. He can do both. Or one then the other. Or one then the other, then…

… _Focus_.

"Somewhere warm enough that we can sometimes stay out in the garden, if we want to, as well. Not all the time, but… well. I have fond memories of the great outdoors, now. And if we could actually get our own waterfall…"

Kylo would most assuredly pay in blood for that. 

Poe grins. "Happy memories?" he asks, deciding he'd better just go with all this and letting the wicked look show in his eyes at last. "Or… future plans?"

"I'm a Grey Sith," Kylo reminds him. "So 'both' is almost always the answer." He grabs Poe's hand, pulls it in, and kisses the back. Kisses, and lets his tongue briefly flicker between his knuckles, a promise for later. "How many courses did we agree on?"

"Three," Poe answers. "I can fetch the second when you're ready. And… possibly we need to factor in some after-dinner entertainment…"

And some more wine. Though that part can be now. Because… that idea again…

"I'm ready. Oh, so very ready." Kylo may not just mean for food, as his tone is clearly more lascivious than normal. Which is difficult, as he usually sounds like he's propositioning Poe when he asks him the time. 

Given that they've made quick work of the opening platter, now _does_ seem like a good idea. "Then allow me to oblige," Poe says, rising to his feet and taking the empty plate, disappearing off into the kitchen again.

When he comes back, he's carrying two bowls of a thick and – hopefully – delicious-smelling stew. This course was something of a leap, but he thinks Kylo will approve. He sets the two bowls down and fetches more bread to go with it, before re-taking his seat.

"OK, this one… I didn't make it, but I did explain it to the commissary staff," Poe says. "My dad used to make it when I was a kid, although _he_ learnt it from my mom. So… I guess that means it's an old Dameron family recipe."

Not quite home cooking, but close.

"I'm intrigued," Kylo says. "We don't so much have family recipes of our own. So I'm going to have to buy into your half of the family where that's concerned." He sniffs at the air, making an intrigued sound at the aroma.

"Whatever it is, I'm **very** ready to try it." He leans to look into the bowl, and waits for Poe to be ready before dunking some bread in, and making a very, very pleased sound of approval. 

"…Oh, that's _good_ ," Poe enthuses, after he's tried it too. "They got the balance just right… I wanted something with a personal connection. So it would be more special. Plus, I've been craving this for weeks."

"Well, you can try to teach me how to make it. Not sure I'll be any good, but I can try. I haven't done any real – home-made – cooking in… since… since before I left?" No. Yes. Must be. Wow, that's longer than Kylo had thought. 

"I'd be glad to." Poe headtilts. "You would have liked my mother, I think," he adds, thoughtfully. "I certainly think she would have liked you. You know she went on a mission with your uncle, once? They went in search of the remains of a Force-sensitive tree that Emperor Palpatine had stolen from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. There's an offshoot of it growing outside the house on Yavin 4."

"Shara, wasn't her name? I think I heard stories a few times. And… it sounds like we should maybe take our own cutting of _that_ tree. Put it in our home, when we get it. Don't you agree?"

Poe nods. "Yes. Shara Bey-Dameron. Green squad. _Ace_ starfighter pilot." Now and forever, one of his heroes. And, even more than two decades later, he still misses her, though he thinks perhaps she'd be proud of what he's accomplished.

And then he grins. "I'm sure my dad would let us have a cutting. Retrieving it was a joint venture between our two families, after all. It would be… symbolic."

Plus, then they would have a _Force-sensitive tree_.

…Time for more wine.

If Kylo notices how fast Poe is refilling their glasses, he doesn't comment. Instead, he's musing on the thought of the tree. "What does it even – do? The tree? Does it bloom when there's a Force-sensitive around?"

And why didn't anyone ever tell him about them? Not that he could have grown one on a First Order Star Destroyer, but still. 

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Poe admits. "I mean, no one in my family is Force-sensitive, so… I don't exactly know. So… that's something else to find out, when we finally make it to Yavin 4."

Which they really need to do at some point soon. After… everything is over.

"Indeed. Maybe it will bloom brighter, or different colours, if the Force is used around it?" Kylo hums, trying to think what it would do, and what applications such a tree could be put to. Until it was sturdy enough, obviously.

He slurps a little noisily, then wipes the back of his hand over his mouth to catch any dribbles. "I have to say, I am more than impressed so far, by your arrangements." 

"I'm glad," Poe tells him. "I wanted you to be. I… wanted this to be special."

And he did, right from the first time he started planning it, although he never quite expected it to end up happening on their last night before such a crucial mission. The _most_ crucial mission. And… that is just making it even more resonant, even more important.

"Anything with you in is special," Kylo insists. And he means it; it's clear in his tone. It might be the last night that Snoke exists. It might be the last night of a chapter of his life that had so many bad paragraphs in, and a hopeful ending. It could be the night before everything changes forever, again.

"Poe Dameron… they broke the mould when they made you. Most assuredly. If anyone can take down the _Decimator_ , it's you and Finn. And Snap and the rest, but mostly you." 

"And we will," Poe says, mustering every last drop of his determination. " _I_ will." And for once, much of his usual modesty is missing, and _there's_ the steely-eyed man he is in the cockpit. "That ship is going down. That _monster_ is going down. Tomorrow we claim our greatest prize since Starkiller Base… and one twice as personal."

And Starkiller was pretty personal, all things considered.

"They're not going to have enough wine or brandy in the galaxy to toast us, tomorrow night. We'll drink the galaxy dry." And Kylo thinks, maybe, they will. He can see it, sort of. Not a premonition, or maybe it is. It could be just his imagination… 

"We're going to do it. I…" Kylo's eyes go distant, then come back. "I **know**." 

Poe nods. "Damn right we are. And… then we get to take the rest of the day off."

And he smiles. "It will rank among the greatest victories in the history of the Resistance _and_ the Rebellion. And… it will be because of _us_."

All Kylo – all _Ben_ – had ever wanted, as a kid, was to be worthy of his family name. To stand proudly amongst the heroes, the Generals, the Jedi. He'd wanted to make them all proud of him, make them see him as their equal. Now – now he has that chance, for the first time. 

"I hope you're ready with a pep talk before we head out. Should I put you on my shoulders for it?" 

"Oh, you bet," Poe answers. "I've been writing it in my head for… longer than I would like to admit. Something to get _everyone_ psyched up for what's coming. And…" he grins, "…sure, if you want to hold me up whilst I talk, I won't object. And neither will they. It does them good to remember that we finally, truly have the Force on our side again."

"Well, I _could_ float you with the Force, if you'd rather. But you might look a bit strange if I did that…" Kylo snickers. "Fly you over their heads?"

Poe laughs. "If you start doing _that_ to me again, we'll need there to be a lot less people around. And no urgent mission to run off to. So… maybe stick to the shoulders-thing."

For now, at least.

Flickers of memory, of that very first afternoon on Eigengrau, and… OK, seriously, Poe really does need to focus on sensible things. Like dinner. _Sensible_.

"All right. I'll float you properly when we get home, victorious. After we've toasted his death, I'll show you what a real victory party should look like." It will likely, Kylo thinks, involve breaking half the things they own in their lust. It will be worth it. 

"You know… after the first two courses, I'm almost scared to see what wonderful trump card you're going to play for dessert."

"Well, I thought about just covering myself in chocolate sauce, but…" Poe's expression is wicked. "…Then I had a better idea."

Given that they're done with the current course, he has another sip of wine and then gets up, moving their empty bowls and plates before disappearing back into the kitchen. When he returns, he's carrying another large platter covered in bite-sized pastries and fruits, with a steaming pot of something at the centre – which, when he sets it down, is revealed to be…

"…Akivan chocolate fondue," Poe explains, re-taking his seat. "Now _this_ recipe, the commissary staff got from Snap a while back. The night they first tried making it… I think he must have gotten two or three straight-up marriage proposals in response. It's basically decadence in dippable form."

"We're already engaged," Kylo points out. "Should I break up with you, so I can re-propose?" Because it looks like the kind of food you go to war over. Kylo would go to war over it. He has one hell of a sweet tooth, albeit not often indulged. Plus, it looks like the kind of thing you need a bath after. Or spend hours licking one another's fingers.

Damn. Poe really has gone all out. He stands, grabs his shirt, and pulls him half-over the table to kiss him madly and fiercely in appreciation. 

Poe looks delighted, not to mention _very_ pleased with himself. "And you haven't even _tasted_ it yet," he remarks, still smirking. "All my plans are coming to fruition…"

Almost all.

Possibly. Soon.

"Try some," he says, with every ounce of his not-inconsiderable charisma.

"Why don't I feed you some, and then you feed me some?" Kylo counters, grabbing the nearest thing that looks like Poe's taste, dunking it deeply, and drawing it across Poe's kiss-full lips. "I want to watch your face as you swallow."

What Poe does to the little pastry in question is nigh-on pornographic, and seems to involve his tongue rather more than is necessary. The fact that he doesn't even blink only makes it worse. Or better. Possibly better.

When he _has_ swallowed, and licked his lips, he says, "You'd think you'd never seen a man eating dessert before." And he just about manages to keep his voice level when he does.

Just about.

He reaches for something to offer Kylo, taking his time swirling it in the dark, spiced chocolate before lifting it up for him.

"You aren't a man, you're some unholy force of nature," Kylo accuses. He arches towards Poe's fingers, kissing at the fruit, then his tongue slides out and under, tugging it into his mouth and licking Poe's fingers in the process. No one is around. He can suck those fingers into his mouth, too, and cast his eyes to Poe's as he moans with a low, hungry afteredge to his voice. 

If they aren't careful, this is going to end up with _both_ of them covered in chocolate sauce. **Hot** chocolate sauce.

"I resent that remark," Poe says, and then reconsiders with a faux-dramatic air. "Or resemble. Yes. Resemble. So… what do you think?"

"I think if this were a few degrees cooler, I'd be dunking other things in for me to eat," Kylo replies, and his eyes are alight with mischief. "But that the earlier idea you had is most assuredly going on the to-do list. It's getting to be quite a list." 

"Isn't it just?" Poe agrees, with a very similar expression. "Though… nothing wrong with being _creative_. Maybe sometime soon we'll get a chance to indulge said list for a while. Do Sith take time off?"

"Sith do whatever the hell they want." Kylo huffs and rolls his eyes. "Do you really think any of my Sith predecessors would object to me taking the time to indulge my _passions_ , Poe? Please, you're supposed to be my Apprentice." 

"Well, then," Poe replies, in between eating more of the fondue with very deliberate enthusiasm, "maybe later you could teach me a lesson or two. I do still have a lot to learn…"

"I think we're going to have to start at the very beginning. You appear to have forgotten _everything_ while you've been busy flying. We'll have to start from the ground up, and make sure your hands feel sure on your hilt." Kylo holds the next piece above his open mouth and drizzles the hot drips onto his tongue, swallowing noisily. 

"Hey, I can multi-task. I just think I would benefit from more… guidance."

Yes, Dameron. _Guidance_. Right. And…

…OK, seriously, this is actually going to end with them having sex in the commissary and they really _shouldn't_ do that, especially given the fact – if they did it right now – it would involve a lot of chocolate.

And… wait, _why_ exactly is that a bad idea..? And…

Which is when Poe's _original_ idea makes itself known in his mind again. And the problem with having a few glasses of wine to build up the courage for _that_ is it also makes it harder for him to keep his thoughts under control. Which in turn increases the risk that Kylo is going to notice.

"I'll guide your hand…" Kylo's eyes track Poe's. Subtle, he is not. Not right now. Maybe it's the wine, or the nerves of tomorrow, but something's up. It's anxious, tense, but not quite fear. Kylo tries to wind through the sensation, wondering if he should mention it or not.

Well. Curiosity is how you learn. "What have you done? Or not done? Poe… you're thinking so loudly I'd hear you in my sleep. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to steal the chocolate to encourage you to spill?" 

There aren't many drawbacks to dating a Sith Lord, though the fact that they can tell when you're trying to hide something is one of them. "…I haven't done anything," Poe says, in roughly the same tone as he once said _"What map?"_

Pause. Breathe. Possibly some more wine. It doesn't go as well with the chocolate as it did with the first two courses, but it's not a bad match. And right now… it's not the taste he's most focused on.

"I… am nervous about tomorrow," he says. Which is true. Indeed, 'nervous' would be putting it mildly. More than mildly. The love of his life is going to confront the most evil, hateful being in the galaxy, whilst nigh-on everyone else he cares about will be engaging in a massive space battle against near-overwhelming forces. If they fail – even if they survive – the Resistance will be hit _hard_. And that's to say nothing about what might happen if Snoke… if he… if Kylo…

_This could be their last night together_.

"…Marry me," Poe blurts out, suddenly, going for broke, before he can stop himself.

Kylo first thinks about saying 'I already proposed', before he sees the truth in the words and thought and tone, and he realises Poe means _right the hell now_. Which is insane, as how long have they known one another? Months. But they did fuck in a matter of hours, and then get engaged the minute they got back together, and… it's pretty much par for their course.

He knows he wants to. Of course he does. It was an insane proposition, but their love is insane. It's not like everyone has the surety of feeling their lover wound through them in the Force, and it's not like everyone's relationship _is_ as breakneck fast. But theirs is, and it's them, and there is nothing Kylo wants more in the whole galaxy than Poe. He'd even – if it came to it – pick Poe over Snoke's death, but he'd rather have both.

"My mother can officiate," he says, which is 'yes'. "If we can get her to agree." 

Poe suddenly realises that this is happening. Moments ago he wasn't even sure if he dared say it out loud, and now he _has_ and it's real, and… he throws caution to the wind, reaches over the table, and yanks Kylo in to kiss him hard.

"I know it's insane," he says, as the kiss breaks. "I know. But… whatever comes tomorrow, I want to be married to you when it does. And… and I know there were supposed to be plans and ceremonies and all of that, but…"

He loses it and kisses Kylo again.

Frankly, Kylo cares little for ceremony. He wants this because he wants to make it official, public, recognised. He wants to offer a promise that has passed down through generations, a declaration of his devotion, and the pomp and circumstance is the furthest thing from his mind. All he needs is Poe, and the whole universe to know they're bound. 

Both hands – one slightly sticky from the food – curl around Poe's face, holding him in place for fierce, chocolate-rich kisses, and he keeps it up until he feels almost faint from it. "Let's do it right now. I've never been more sure of anything than I have been of us, Poe. If my mother won't, someone on this damned base must be ready to do it." 

"She'll do it," Poe says. "You're her son. Also I'm her most daring pilot. So… she will. We… are we going to tell people or… do you want it to be just us?"

His heart is racing. This is _happening_. And even though he's been trying to psyche up to suggesting it all evening, his mind never fully connected that with the concept that _it could actually happen_.

"…we should probably tell a few people. I think Snap, Rey and Finn would kill us if we didn't. And obviously both my parents, and Chewie. If we could get word to your father, I'd say do, but…" Kylo's working through things, as fast as he can.

"I haven't written vows. I'm going to have to make them up. We're already dressed right, so… oh! We need BB-8, too." 

"We should probably start by asking your mother," Poe says. He wishes there _was_ some way to get his dad here in time, but… there isn't. He's going to have a lot of apologising to do when he finally goes home. "Then… then you find Rey and Finn and I'll find Snap, and BB-8, and then… then we do this."

A pause. Now his mind is racing too. "…It should be outside. Under the stars. That… that would feel the most _right_."

"By the edge of the forest?" Kylo asks. Close enough to hear the rustle of the leaves, but open enough to see the sky?" Really there should be a waterfall, but then it would likely need to be a very private ceremony, after all. 

He pushes back from the table, checking his chrono. "My mother will be at home. Let's go there, first?" 

Poe stands too. "Yes. Yes, that sounds right. And…" And now he has to go and have _this_ conversation with General Organa. And probably with Han Solo as well. At least he has Kylo with him this time.

He takes Kylo's hand, and off they go, out of the mess hall and into the cool, night air. The base beyond is quiet, and they don't run into anyone as they head up towards Leia's quarters, near the centre of the complex.

Kylo is nervous, but it's good nervous. He's completely forgotten about tomorrow, and all he can think about is Poe. And him. Married. Tomorrow morning, they could be spouses, not just engaged. It makes his heart skip giddily, and he can't wait to do it.

"At least it wasn't my idea this time," he says, kissing Poe's hair as they wait for the door to open. "So we can't just put it all down to me being impulsive and impatient." 

When the door in question does slide open, Leia Organa is standing on the other side. She looks surprised to see them… and, at the same time, not surprised at all. "Kylo," she says. "Poe. Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, mother," Kylo says. "But we would very much like it if you would marry us. I mean, to one another. The officiation part. If that's okay?"

Leia smiles. She reaches to take Kylo's hand, and then – a little more cautiously – to take Poe's as well. "My boy. My _boys_ ," she says, eyes sparkling with happiness. "I thought you'd never ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...needless to say, this coming Wednesday?
> 
> _You are cordially invited..._


	54. Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, dear readers, we welcome you all to this oh-so-special night for our beloved boys. We hope you enjoy it as much as they did!
> 
> And - _drumroll please, cue the lights, smoke machine in three... two... one..._ \- we have an announcement. A big announcement. You see, today's chapter marks the first part of our SURPRISE FINAL UPDATEATHON. Yes, you read that right. Starting today, we begin our FOUR-PART CLOSURE ARC for this insane behemoth of a fic that has defined the last four months of our lives. So join us TOMORROW for quite possibly THE BIGGEST CHAPTER in this whole thing, followed by MORE on Friday, and then THE GRAND FINALE on Saturday.
> 
> In the meantime, we take you back to two men, and a sky full of stars...

Still smiling brightly, Leia looks from the two men at the door, and calls over her shoulder. "Han? Han… you should probably come hear this."

Han calls out a: "What is it, not some damn emergency is it? I was looking forward to--" and then he sees the two boys on the doorstep. "Huh."

"Hi, Dad," Kylo says. "Will you please give your blessing for our wedding?"

"…I thought I already did. Wait. You aren't meaning-- now?"

Kylo nods.

Han snorts. "Runs in the family, huh, Princess?"

Leia hits him on the arm, but not at all hard, and then turns back to her son and her almost-son-in-law. "Where do you want to do it?"

"Outside," Poe answers, still looking like he can't quite believe this is happening. "Under the stars. On… the edge of the forest."

"I know just the place," Leia says. "Are you telling anyone else?"

Poe nods. "Rey and Finn. And Snap. And… BB-8."

Kylo, of course, knows how his parents got married. Maybe it is hereditary. He grabs Poe by the waist. "Do you think we could start in… an hour's time?" he asks his mother.

"You didn't mention Chewie." Han sounds insulted.

"Dad… Chewie doesn't go anywhere without you."

"Still."

"Didn't mention you, either," Poe says, with a smile that he hopes will be enough to make Han realise he's joking. "Some things are just a given."

He still braces for impact all the same. This is what he gets for using wine as a way to boost his confidence.

Han's jaw opens ready to bitch some more, a finger up and prodding, before his eyes narrow, his lips turn into a lopsided smile and the pointing finger turns into a fist. Which gently shoves at Poe's shoulder. "You're gonna fit right into the family, you know."

"I had to pick someone who could put up with all of you," Kylo agrees, his eyes amused.

"Okay. I better get the big guy ready. He's gonna want to groom his fur for the whole hour. He'll probably cry more than your mother, kiddo." Han nods, and looks them up and down again. He doesn't say anything else, but that seems to be more from choking than an absence of things he's thinking. He turns and walks off.

"Told you he'd like you for nearly hitting him," Kylo mumbles to Poe. 

Poe still mostly looks glad to be alive. And… like he sort of maybe gets Han at last. Maybe. A little.

"Go tell the others you want to be there," Leia prompts. "We'll get the place sorted out."

Now Poe turns to Kylo. "I'll find BB-8 and Snap, if you go for Rey and Finn."

Kylo nods. "All right. Meet you there?" he asks, before pushing his forehead to Poe's. His heart is racing like mad, and he feels dizzy and giddy like he's a teenager all over again.

Poe kisses him quickly. "It's a promise."

***

Once he's managed to let go of the man he's about to marry, Poe races off in the direction of the main barracks. As chance would have it, BB-8 is close by, and wheels around on seeing his master running closer, hurtling over to meet him and chittering noisily, asking what's going on, and how the evening went.

The pilot drops down onto one knee, grinning. "The date was amazing. And then… then I sort of asked Kylo if he would marry me. Tonight."

BB-8 freezes in surprise, staring at him for a moment and then nigh-on _squeaking_ in delight, rolling all around him before coming to a halt again and bumping in close.

"Well, I'm glad you agree," Poe says, patting the little astro on the top of its chassis. "We're meeting on the edge of the forest in just under an hour. I think General Organa wanted to arrange a few things… can you go see if she needs any help?"

The astromech beeps in agreement, and then bumps at him again, saying something else.

"…I _know_ I'm gonna have to start calling her something less formal than 'General Organa'," Poe concedes. "It's just… you know. Tricky."

BB-8 gives him the droidly equivalent of a sideways look, and then sets off in the direction of Leia's quarters, all but singing to itself as it goes.

Poe smiles, rising back to his feet and continuing on towards the main barracks. He rarely goes in here, now – given that he and Kylo have quarters of their own – so it feels almost odd to be back in these corridors again. He passes the door to what is technically still _his_ room, and then goes to the one next to it, taking a deep breath and then knocking.

There's a moment's pause, and Poe has to hope – given that Snap is no longer single – that he's not interrupting anything. The door slides back and – mercifully – it looks like the other man is currently alone.

"Poe?" Snap says, seeming surprised to see him. "Are you OK? I thought you and Kylo had special plans tonight?"

"We did," Poe answers. His mind is racing and he's aware he sounds more than a little breathless. "We… still do. It… OK, try to keep your voice down when I tell you… I asked him to marry me."

Snap stares at him. "Didn't he already do that weeks ago?"

"Yes. I mean tonight. I asked him to marry me tonight. As in, actually marry me. The actual marrying part."

OK, sentences are apparently tricky right now.

The other man's expression is priceless. He goes from confused to stunned to beaming, and then claps a hand on Poe's shoulder. "I should've known," he says. "Poe Dameron, you magnificent son of a bitch…"

Which is when Poe gets grabbed and pulled into a hug. When Snap lets go of him again, Poe says, "We're keeping it small. Just Kylo's parents and Chewie, and Rey and Finn, and BB-8 and you." He grins. "Figured you'd probably floor me again if I did it without telling you."

"Damn right I would!" Snap exclaims. "You think I'd miss this for anything? Although… there's something I need to do first. You go on ahead and I'll be there in five minutes. Ten, tops."

"All right," Poe says, giving him a slightly suspicious look. "I'll see you there."

***

Kylo fidgets on the doorstep, waiting for someone to answer. He's sure he's bright red. He's sure he's going to stammer his way through the whole ceremony. He's also sure he doesn't care, because Poe will love him no matter what. He smiles to himself, and when Finn opens the door, he is greeted by a smile equally as warm.

"Kylo. You okay, man?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm… I'm getting married. To Poe. Tonight. And… are you and Rey free, maybe? To… well, if you want to come."

"If we…" Finn shakes his head, then pulls the taller man in for a hug, clapping his shoulder before holding him at arm's length. "Damn right we're coming. Rey?" he calls, over his shoulder. 

Rey hurries over, expression radiant. "Did I just hear that right? You're getting married? That's _wonderful_."

And she's the next to go in for a hug, because if you can't hug your Force-Master on his wedding day, when can you?

Kylo lets them both paw at him, even though it's still a little awkward for him. But he likes and trusts them both, and he's pushed his way through Rey's head, so they're probably past the awkward 'can we make physical contact' phase, but it's still not his field of expertise. "Yeah. Thanks. We're meeting on the edge of the forest, up from my mother's place, in…" he checks his chrono. "About forty minutes. If you'd like to come." 

"We need to dress up?" Finn asks. 

"Not really. It's not formal. Or… not for me. My _mother_ might be a different matter, though."

"Okay. So. Semi-formal. Gotcha." 

"We'll be there," Rey promises, still smiling.

***

It's a short time later, when Poe makes it to the place on the edge of the forest.

He hasn't been gone long, but it seems that his about-to-be-mother-in-law has been busy. There are a ring of little lights set up, glowing in the night, marking out the area where the ceremony will happen.

Actually. For real. He sort of stands and stares at it for a moment, his mind still racing and his stomach doing somersaults.

Kylo arrives only a few minutes later, and nods down at BB-8, who rolls between them excitedly. When he gets close, he crouches down to get on a level with the astro, hand raised. 

BB-8 spins up, and pushes into his palm, chirping in delight. 

The Sith pats the droid, then stands up and goes closer to Poe, holding his hands out. "Last chance to change your mind, Dameron."

Poe takes his hands and steps in close. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he says. "Nothing in the galaxy – in the whole _universe_ – is going to stop me from being married to you."

It still feels amazing every time he says it. And it's going to be even _better_ when it actually happens.

"Just think of the tax breaks," Kylo snickers, and then pulls Poe in, as if to dance. One hand joined, the other arm going around his waist. "I'd say think of the living space, too, but being the General's son has its advantages."

"Oh, I'm a dangerous rebel, I don't pay taxes," Poe points out. "I was thinking more about the part where all of this will make tonight our _wedding night_."

"You do realise I will want _another_ one, later, when I don't have to leave you in a fit state to walk, or sit?" His brows arch, the words low so there's some semblance of privacy from the astromech close by. "When I use you so hard all you can do is lie on your belly and try to work out if another round will feel more good than bad…" 

Poe's eyes flicker with delight and _need_. "I'm counting on it," he says, softly. "And very, _very_ much looking forward to it…"

Though he needs to stop _thinking_ about it right now, on account of there being other people around. But… it's definitely a plan to save for later.

"Need you in a fit, fighting state. But if we – _when_ we win this, and come back in one piece? You need to be ready for the most… ah…" Kylo slips his thumb against the corner of Poe's mouth, and he doesn't say the rest. Mostly because they'll embarrass themselves in front of their friends and family, who are slowly arriving. He can hear them. 

"You're on a promise, pilot." 

That makes Poe curl in closer. Yet another reason to live. He has so very, very many of those, but this one is particularly compelling. He presses his head to Kylo's chest, and holds on tight, positively radiating approval for the idea.

Up ahead, Leia moves to the centre of the ring of lights, because… because it's _time_. Han and Chewie are close by, and Rey and Finn have arrived too, moving in. BB-8 wheels in next to them, bumping lightly at Rey.

The little astro has always liked her.

Poe looks around. "All we're missing now is that best friend of mine… who is _definitely_ up to something. He had that _look_ when I went to tell him our plans, and…"

And then he turns, and sees. Snap Wexley is heading up towards them… and he isn't alone. There's a whole crowd of people at his back: the other pilots, and all of them holding torches and palm-lights, like a little sea of stars.

Poe has to try very hard not to tear-up. "…and I love being right," he murmurs.

"Oh for the love of… what happened to a 'small' thing?" Kylo asks, and puts his face in Poe's shoulder, suppressing laughter and a minor amount of terror. "I'm not regretting marrying you, but sometimes your family is worse than mine. And I mean that lovingly." 

"…Yeah, they kinda are," Poe concedes. "But hey, if you ever needed more proof that they like you…"

He turns to the pilots, _his_ pilots, his **family** , and presses a hand to his chest, in a silent gesture of gratitude to them all. And then… he looks up at Kylo.

"I think it's time to do this."

"Yeah. I guess they didn't come with blasters blazing," Kylo agrees, and looks over with a more sedate nod. He takes a shuddery breath, then kisses Poe's forehead. And wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him gently to where his parents and Chewie are standing. 

"You kids ready?" Han asks.

Chewie comments that it certainly looks like they are. 

"Yeah," Poe answers, still holding Kylo's hand tight. "We're ready."

Leia steps up, looking between the two men, a smile on her face. She lets the moment endure for a moment, and then, addressing them – and the crowd beyond them – she starts to speak.

"In my experience," she begins, "there is no force in the galaxy stronger than love. It has the power to change lives like nothing else: on a personal scale, on a planetary scale. It is a force unlike any other – even the obvious – and, in its wake, we come to see things as we are meant to. And the ultimate declaration of that love is marriage: a moment when two people come together to declare themselves one, to say in front of those who bear witness that they are for each other, and that nothing will tear them asunder. We live in dangerous times, and all of us know it, but when we stand with those who matter: our families, our friends, the ones we love, we are infinitely, unshakeably stronger."

"Tonight, we are here to bear witness to the union of these two; the union of Poe Dameron and Kylo Ren. We have, all of us, seen the strength of their devotion, their commitment, and now… I invite them to declare that devotion to each other, before us all."

Kylo swallows, trying to keep his emotions in check. It's hard. All these people here, and they can see how vulnerable he is, how… Human, after all. It's terrifying to let people see him this open, even though it's no secret how much he loves Poe, or how much Poe loves him. He holds his hands, palms up, out for Poe.

"Poe. I really don't know what to say. If I'd been sensible, I would have thought about this beforehand. Thought about it, and crafted some nice, neat lines. But that isn't who we are, or who we are together. We're not the quiet dates over caf, we're two soldiers who met on opposite sides, who could never be the holo-perfect cookie-cutter couple, so it's only fitting these vows should be the same as we are: fast, loving, perfect together."

He takes another breath, steadying himself. "You saved me. You saved me, when I was lost to the galaxy. Your heart, your goodness, your Light… you refused to let me stay in the Dark, alone. You refused to let a mask and a war stand between you and what you believed. You dragged me kicking and screaming away from the abyss, and you showed me what love really _is_. It doesn't matter where it is, or how it's shown, it's… it's fighting for what you know is right. Even when it's hard. It's being ready to change for the better, being ready to give, being… being… selfless, selfish, brave, open… Poe, you're _everything_. You're everything I wish I was, and you somehow love me back. I'd be a broken thing without you, and I promise… I promise with all I am that I will keep fighting for you. To be good enough for you, and to protect you. To protect you, cherish you, love you, and keep you safe. I promise with my whole heart that it's yours, that I'm yours, and that there is no one that… that Kylo Organa-Solo could ever love more than you. I'm yours, Poe. And that's all there is to it." 

Poe's eyes are shining with tears by the end of this, and he has to take a very deep breath to stop himself losing it, gripping tight hold of Kylo's hands. Although, when Kylo calls himself _Organa-Solo_ , Poe isn't the only one who looks like they're about to break, because there are tears shining in Leia's eyes at that, too.

And then Poe takes a deep breath, before he starts to speak. "Kylo. I probably _should_ know what to say. This part was my idea, and you'd think I would have come up with some neat lines of my own in advance… but you probably know by now that I don't really live my life like that. I learned from an early age how to trust my instincts, how to make snap decisions, how to trust the briefest of impulses because sometimes they can be more _right_ than something long over-thought. It's essential in the cockpit and it turns out it works in the wider world, too."

"I've been fighting near enough my whole life. For the Republic, for the Resistance, for ideals I've long been ready to die for. But I have never in that whole life of mine been more ready to die for something, to _live_ for something, than the day I realised I loved you. The day I saw who you really were, a person hidden in the Dark but a person filled with a Light so bright it couldn't stay hidden forever. I'd been looking for something for longer than I could remember, searching the galaxy for something I knew was out there and couldn't find… and then there you were, and I couldn't take my eyes off you. Even right at the start, when we were supposed to be enemies, I knew. I knew. It was you. It was always you, racing towards me from out of the unseen, to make my whole world complete. I was bound to you, in the Force, in my heart, and now I long to be bound to you in the eyes of the whole galaxy. And so I promise, with every fibre of my being, with my Light and my Dark, with my instincts and my very soul, that I will love you, and trust you, and fight for you from this moment, beyond the very end of days. You woke me up. You woke me up, and I know that I am awake, and it is all because of you, Kylo Organa-Solo. It is all because of you."

Decorum be damned. Kylo grabs Poe's face in both his hands and pulls him up as he bends down, smashing his lips to his lover's, kissing with all that insane, hot-red, star-bright passion that is so very, very _Sith_. He kisses him, his eyes leaking and making his cheeks damp with salt, and he shoves his heart and mind down the Bond, so alive, so happy, so… sure. He's found his other half, the melody to his descant, and he wants the whole damn crowd to know. No, not the crowd: the _universe_. 

There's a moment of stunned silence from the spectators, then someone – Finn – whoops and starts to clap, then the clapping spreads like wildfire, and feet stomp in unison, too. 

Poe kisses Kylo back, as hard as he can, arms wrapped up and around him, holding on so hard it hurts. He's known, since the moment he first realised he loved this man, the moment he first admitted it, the moment he agreed to marry him, just what Kylo means to him, and yet right now it feels infinitely brighter; like the light of a hundred million stars, all focused on this one, unshakeable truth.

"I love you," he whispers, when the kiss breaks. "And I will love you forever."

Leia – eyes still shining – lets the moment endure a little longer before subtly gesturing for quiet, because there's one more thing that needs to be said.

"You have declared your love before everyone present," she starts out. "You have declared it, as is custom, though none of us could possibly doubt it. And so, before those who love you, before the galaxy, before the Force… I declare you married. And what the Force has bound together, no power in the galaxy can break asunder."

And, once again – and louder this time – the crowd goes wild.

Kylo laughs, a low sound, and turns to look at the family gathered around them. All of them happy, all of them hopeful. He never thought he'd have anyone – not even a friend – and now he has a husband, his own family, and more extended family than he ever even dreamed of as a kid. 

"This is all because of you," he tells Poe, and holds his arms out, head tilted, asking before he picks him up. 

Poe practically leaps into his arms, holding on as tight as he can. "It's because of both of us," he insists. "I love you. I love you so damn much."

He's half-laughing, half-crying, but the overall emotion is so much bigger than either of these. It's so wonderful, he feels like he might explode with it; like it's more than one person can contain.

Maybe that's why it takes two of them.

"If no one has any objections, I intend to take my husband home," Kylo says, with a nod and a smile at his parents, Chewie, Finn, Rey… and then to the pilots. 

"I think we'd object if you didn't," Han replies. 

Chewie roars a congratulations so loud that it shakes the branches above them.

"Just don't stay up _all_ night, you two," Snap tells them, grinning. "Remember… tomorrow we save the galaxy."

"How could we forget?" Poe says.

"Yeah, we're expecting a big, dramatic speech!" Jess adds.

"You'll get it!" Poe calls, over his shoulder, as his husband carries him home.

***

When they're alone, walking through the darkness – OK, Kylo walking, with Poe still in his arms – Poe has to ask the crucial question.

"So how did you enjoy date night?"

He's grinning from ear to ear, radiating a happiness so intense, it's a wonder he isn't actually glowing.

"You do realise you now have set the bar very high, considering the food and the wedding?" Kylo replies, just as happily. He holds him closer, walking with long strides to their home. "It may well be the happiest night of my life, you idiot. I don't even know why you have to ask me." 

Poe curls in tighter. "To hear you say it," he answers. "And OK, yes, the wedding part is a special case. Though the food part is repeatable, with forward-planning. And… motivation."

"How should I best motivate you?" Kylo asks, as they get to the door. He gestures with his fingers so the door opens, and leans in to grab another kiss, biting at his mouth. "And where should I motivate my husband? Here, on the carpet? On the couch, on the kitchen table, in the bed, up against the mirror… where should I make you – my **husband** – mine?" 

That word on Kylo's lips is bliss made manifest, and Poe shivers from head to toe in delight. Plus, there are so many lovely possibilities in everything else Kylo has said. So many. But… sometimes, certain traditions should be maintained.

"Take me to bed," Poe says. Asks. " _Please_."

"As my love wishes," Kylo acknowledges, a little dip of his head. He takes him through, and places him gently down in the centre of the bed, before climbing right on top of him and finding his hands. He takes them without force, pushing them above Poe's head and keeping his hands on his wrists. "Do you remember that night, our first night in a bed? I thought I'd found paradise, and I had." 

That makes Poe smile, his eyes going dark with happiness. "How could I possibly forget?" he says, softly. "That night was amazing. _You_ were amazing. The way you made me feel… the way you _always_ make me feel… I still can't quite get over it. I have never doubted you. Even when I had nothing to go on but my instincts, and my hope… some part of me just _knew_ that all roads led here."

"I can't take you as hard as I'd like, but I can take you as long as I'd like…" Kylo pushes Poe's head back, incisors pushing into the space behind his jaw and scratching a stark line across the front of his throat. He sinks his lower teeth in, suckling over his craw and lapping with his tongue as he does so.

" _Want to tie you down and lick every last inch of you, husband. Now is when you tell me if you don't want it._ "

"How could I not want it?" Poe gasps, sounding positively raptured. "I love you. I need you. I'm _yours_ , now and forever."

He's said it – and meant it – so many times before, and yet somehow it feels infinitely more real now. Infinitely _stronger_. He arches under the attention, craving it, longing for it.

"Stay there," Kylo orders, and lets go of his wrists. He sits back on his haunches, ass brushing over Poe's crotch, and gazes down at him. First he cups his spit-wet face, eyes so very fond, and his other hand works to unfasten his upper layer, pushing buttons out of the holes, keeping his skin from touching Poe's, wanting to make him mad with waiting. 

"I want to see what I own, what's mine. I want to catalogue and memorise it all, so if you ever get new marks I can lick them better… before I slaughter whoever is responsible." 

Poe doesn't move, save for the rhythm of his breath, and a slight curl of fingertips into palms. But he watches, intent and adoring and _needing_ all at once, obviously craving the contact that never quite comes, though not going so far as to push for it.

"All of me is yours," he says, simply. Because it is _true_. "All of me… my lover, my _master_ , my **husband**."

The first two still apply, after all. They apply, and they always will. It is just… _more_ , now.

Once all the buttons are undone, Kylo peels the layers back, leaving Poe's chest bare and open. Kylo smiles, admiring the warm, firm torso below him. Two fingers of one hand draw slow, wide zig-zags over his stomach, almost so faint as to just tug at the hairs rising up to him. "All of you. Not just your body, but your heart, your mind, your Force, your soul. All of it mine, and I will take care of it."

A hand below Poe's head, cradling him as he lifts him just up enough to pull the shirt off, and toss it to one side, before lowering him back down. Next is the belt. Kylo unfastens it with care, the sound of the tongue slicking through hole to hole before he yanks it from the loops and reaches up to bind Poe's hands to the headboard. 

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps, because _fuck_ , he likes that. He waits for Kylo to be done before giving a tug on his wrists, simply to feel how firmly he's held, and oh but he loves that too. It feels… _right_. Like this is where he belongs. This is how he's meant to be. His heart is racing with apprehension and hope and every inch of him is still craving Kylo's touch.

"I know you will," he says, following Kylo's eyes as he speaks. "I have always known. I have never doubted it."

"Maybe a little hope I wouldn't?" the Sith teases, and arches up to kiss his forehead in amusement. Then he wriggles lower, hands stroking up and down over his clothed thighs before he starts to tease the waistband down, shuffling the fabric closer to his knees and ankles. 

When they're bunched between his feet, he pushes under Poe's legs so he bends, and so he can unfasten his boots and toss them and his socks to one side. He carries on until Poe's utterly bare, and then he lowers one leg around him, and bends the other so he can support his ankle and kiss around the bones, over the arch of his foot, thumbs pressing firmly into his sole and stroking fingers over his toes. He wants to worship every last bit of him, no matter if it's minorly tickly in the process or not. 

"Maybe a little," Poe concedes, because… _because_. "But at the same time… I knew." He thinks it's important to say, especially now.

And he jumps slightly at the fingers on his toes, biting his lip and smiling, and trying to resist the urge to beg for rather more, rather higher. Because… he wants Kylo to do this. Wants the other man to have every inch of him, to remind him – all over again – precisely who he belongs to.

"I knew the same. I knew my heart was safe with you, and I knew… my _Dark_ was safe, too. I knew I didn't need to keep myself held back. Not really." Kylo wraps his broad hands around Poe's ankle, sliding up and over his calf, following his lips that kiss up to his knee, and over his inner thigh. His long hair brushes gently wherever he goes, and he kneads and presses where he can feel Poe's body reacting to his touch. When his hands glide up to his hip, he lays that leg down and goes to repeat with the other side. 

"It is," Poe whispers. "You are. And you always will be." And maybe it's a strange moment to say as much, but at the same time… it's important, too. "And you never need to hold back. I love who you are. _All_ of who you are. And… _oh, Kylo, that feels so good_ …"

A grin, a flash of teeth. "I've only just started," Kylo says, and lays the other leg down flat. He scoots off the bed, and takes a moment to strip himself – quickly and efficiently – before pulling out one of their toy boxes. He finds some soft (but strong) leather cuffs, and gently locks them around Poe's ankles. There's a length of metal piping, next: a spreader bar. He clicks each ankle to a side, meaning there's no pushing back together of his feet. His legs are spread, and that's that. 

Next comes out a blindfold, and he ties it gently over Poe's eyes. "Don't want you knowing what's coming next," he says. 

And that makes the whole world _invert_. " _Fuck_ ," Poe gasps, his whole body _shuddering_ with how that makes him feel, with the way it leaves him dizzy and helpless and _wanting_ so hard that he can barely think. "I'm yours, Kylo. Yours, to use however you want, I…"

Also a little nervous. Good-nervous. Not being able to move is one thing, but not even being able to _see_ is… intense. And it drives home, all the more, just how much he needs this. All of this. Needs _him_.

Definitely a good idea. Kylo strokes fingers through his hair, leaning so close his breathing gusts over Poe's face. "You remember how to stop, if you need me to stop. Not that I intend you to need to… I want to just make you feel pleasure, love, safety. Nothing but that…" and then he scratches his nails down from under the belt over Poe's bare arms, and then pinches his thumbs into his shoulders as he kisses around the blindfold with surprisingly soft care, counterpointing the sting of pain under his hands. 

That makes Poe cry out, arching upwards again – as much as he can – before he drops back. The other thing about not being able to see is it makes everything feel so much _more_ , and even those fingernails on his skin make it seem like his mind is whiting out… which means he doesn't stand a chance when Kylo really ups the ante.

Which is a thought Poe loves. Of course.

"I love you," he whispers, like a man rapidly losing his mind in the best possible way. "I love you."

"I love you too." And he does. All the way to his core. Kylo uses his nails to scratch lower, then finds Poe's nipples and pulls them both firmly, making them stand proud and ready. He keeps the pinch up, then licks them flatly, moving back and forth between the two, his pattern irregular and impossible to predict. He can feel how this is affecting his husband, and the happiness he can sense urges him to work harder. 

" _Ohhh_ ," Poe gasps, the pleasurepain making him slowly crazy with need, and yet wonderful in its own right. "Oh… K-Kylo… feels so good… please don't stop… pleaseohpleaseohplease…"

Another tug on his wrists, not to escape, but because he needs somewhere for the energy to go. The desperation. The _longing_.

Broad hands slide under his shoulders, lifting him from the bed, as Kylo's mouth bites and sucks pink marks all over, now. He drags over the dip under his throat, bites hard on pecs, writes sloppy promises and dips his tongue in his navel. He works down and down… then there's movement on the bed.

Kylo kneels low down, and then grabs the bar between Poe's ankles. He hoists it hard, and takes most of his weight there, letting him adjust to being suspended by a strong arm for all of a moment before he pushes his face into his waiting groin, wrapping lips around his balls and sucking hard. 

" **Yes**!" is Poe's immediate response, sharp and desperate and completely _wrecked_. "Please, please, I'm yours, I need you, I need you, I'll do anything…"

He's going to be screaming before this is over. He knows it. He's too over-wrought with need, now, his whole body absolutely _aching_ for more: for pain, for pleasure, for the slightest touch, and the begging keeps coming of its own accord, without him even thinking about it. Without him being able to.

Complete inversion is bad, for extended periods, Kylo knows. But having your legs held up and your shoulders still on the bed is probably okay for what he intends. He rolls the sac around in his mouth, muffled noises as he does it, enjoying the shaking pleasure going through his pilot. It's not even 'Dark', per se, but he knows Poe is enjoying it thoroughly. Enjoying it even more when he lifts from his balls to lick a stripe between his butt-cheeks. A pause, to see what he thinks, before he does it again. Harder. 

"Do you like that?" he asks, head tilted, reading his bodily response as much as verbal. 

" _YesMasteryespleasepleaseplease_ ," Poe cries, the spaces vanishing in how much he needs this. In how the craving is becoming stronger than he knows how to process. His whole body is trembling with how much he likes it, how much he needs it, and he's already so hard it hurts.

Kylo has a long tongue. He pushes it into a firm, fat spear and pokes and prods furiously between Poe's spread legs. His lover is a wreck, and it's all because of him. He smiles, and then pushes his tongue all the way inside of him, drawing circles that stretch him, as if he was fucking him with his finger. It's odd, but not unpleasant, and his other hand goes to lazily stroke Poe's dick, making sure he keeps with the program. 

By now, Poe is so hypersensitive from being slowly wound up (and up, and up, and up) that every nerve ending feels like it's on fire, and then Kylo goes and does _that_ , and the last vestiges of coherence in his mind just break.

"Master… Master, please… please… IneedyouIneedyouIneedyou, oh please, please." The words tumble from his lips, honest and heartfelt, though he's so under he hardly knows what he's saying. But that doesn't make him mean it any less.

The hand on Poe's cock tightens, chokingly firm, and Kylo licks in harder. He reaches in as far as he can, then starts to fuck his face between his lover's legs. He hums in satisfaction, his nose bumping balls as he carries on. Over and over, until he's sure Poe is falling to pieces.

"Do you think I should fuck you, now? Or do you think I should lick you elsewhere, **husband**?" He wants to see how coherent Poe really is, right now. 

"Anything… anything…" is all Poe can manage, his mind _gone_ , and his whole body a trembling wreck in the other man's hands. "I… _anything_."

He doesn't even quite know what he'd beg for if he could. He wants to be fucked through the mattress. He also wants to be driven even further out of his head. Mostly… he wants to be at Kylo's mercy because, even when it's only in good ways, it still feels incredible.

Kylo jabs two fingers in, testing how tight he is, knowing saliva will work, but not long-term. "Think you're ready, do you? Think you're stretched enough? Or should I spread you so wide the air breathes into you?" 

He's going to use lubrication, obviously, but he can still tease. He decides to suck as much of Poe's cock into his mouth as he can, whilst waiting for the response. 

Poe takes a mental run up, trying for more coherence, but only coming vaguely close. "I'll… anything… Master, I… h-however you want me… take me…"

He hopes his meaning is clear enough in the words he does manage, to say nothing of the emotion radiating off him; emotion that you don't need to be a Force-user to read. It isn't exactly subtle.

A nod, and Kylo grabs for the lube. Poe needs him, and he needs Poe. He keeps his husband's legs lifted, his ass clean off the sheets, and squirts the cold liquid over his whole crotch, letting it slop and slide everywhere. The sheets will need cleaning, but he doesn't care. When there's enough dribbling around he swirls three fingers in, then pushes them all into his husband in one sure, firm gesture. 

"Like that?" he asks, and fucks him firmly, but painfully slowly. He's not going to be able to draw it out much longer, but he can do until he loses his own self-control. 

" **Fuck _yes!_** " Poe all but screams, high-pitched and desperate and utterly in heaven. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours, _fuckIneedyousobad_ …"

On some level, he wishes there was a stronger way to prove it, a stronger way to say it, but right now all he can do is plead, and take, and try to pull all his emotions to the fore, pushing them down their bond, offering them to Kylo. Wanting him to know, to _feel_ , just how much he means.

Kylo grabs some rope from the bag, loops it through the headboard, and then around the spreader bar. He keeps those fingers in as he ties Poe bent in half, so his back arches and offers up his ass. He makes sure he can hold the stress position, first, then pulls his fingers out.

And then he waits. Waits, to see how the pause will make him snap. He's not in his head, not touching him anywhere. Poe has to see what it's like not to touch, so the touching feels more. 

The position feels _so_ very good. Madly, insanely good. It isn't the most comfortable, but somehow the edge of discomfort just adds to how amazing it feels, because Poe knows he's like this because Kylo wants him like this, to torment him, to _use_ him, to…

And the contact breaks. And doesn't immediately come back. And his whole body thrums with the longing, like ungrounded electricity, searching for a point to spark and finding nothing.

"P-please," he begs, very softly. "Please… I need you…"

"Shhh," Kylo reassures him. "You'll have me. I just wanted to see you, see how beautiful you are. I want to admire you." He arches up and over, keeping himself from any contact other than the faint brush of lips to his. He opens up the Bond, lightly enveloping him, letting his own emotional state trickle and turn to a stream, then a flood. Just their lips touching, and all his love and adoration. Deeper, deeper… and when he can't get any further in is when his hands move to hold him up and he slowly rocks just the very tip of his cock in and out, in and out. 

Poe feels wonderful. Open, warm, ready. More than that, it's the emotional connection, right now. Kylo can feel how his actions make Poe feel, and he continues the light gestures, wanting to hold it at that until he can't anymore. 

" _Oh_ ," Poe breathes, little more than a whisper, over Kylo's lips. "I love you. I love you. I'm yours… I… _Kylo… ohKyloplease_."

The whole world is just sensation, now. Sensation and need and love and _him_ ; a great slow, swirling maelstrom of emotion and feeling, surging like the tides, rising and rising, desperate to break like waves on a distant shore.

The control needed to go slow is difficult, but Kylo's found control an easier thing in all aspects of his life since he met Poe. (Well, other than 'not having sex at all', which is a sacrifice he's willing to make.) He keeps up the shallow, gentle penetration, only letting an inch in and out, over and over. Poe's body welcomes him with every thrust, and he deepens it by degrees. Still slow. Still firm. 

"You feel amazing," he whispers, kissing the side of his mouth. "So right around me, Poe. So good for me. We can do this – this – forever. You and me. Forever. And the galaxy knows, now. Knows for good that you belong to me, and me to you. The galaxy knows, the Force knows, we know. We're one, Poe. You and I. We're one…" and he slides all the way in, before holding perfectly still.

It's true. It's been true since the very start. Perhaps since before the very start. But… Poe has never felt it more strongly than he does right now. (And he has felt it _strongly_.)

"Always," he murmurs. "Always yours. Always love you. Please. Please. Kylo… Master… lover… _husband_ … I need you, I need you, _please_ …"

"You have me," he promises, and he can't resist him any longer. Both of them needs this, need this union. They're stronger together, and always have been. Kylo grabs Poe's hips to hold him even stiller, one foot planted on the bed as he starts to slam into him with all his force. He calls out loudly at the sensation, driving over and over and over, leaving Poe's cock bouncing between them. 

"You have me, Poe, you have me. I love you, I love you. I love you so damn much. Give it to me, give it _all_ to me." 

" **Yes!** " Poe all but screams, because _fuck_ , that is what he needs. _This_ is what he needs, to be taken so hard that the last vestiges of his grip on the world shatter, and he's left adrift on Kylo's will, assured of his love, safe in his hands. His whole body shudders under every last thrust, giving way beneath them, letting him in.

"I love you. I love you. Fuck… that feels so good, so very good… oh, _oh_ Kylo please, please… _justlikethat!_ "

There's nothing more satisfying than reducing your lover to ranting. Kylo is particularly fond of it, especially when he's bound and thrashing. His fingers press so hard he'll leave marks, and the bed groans as he rides Poe like a ship in a storm. He keeps changing the angle, either by design or default it's hard to tell, but he howls himself when he manages to somehow rake deeper inside. He's so not going to last long, not like this, but he has to make sure Poe comes first. Has to.

Both hands busy, he tightens the air with his mind, gripping Poe's cock and milking the length of it, twisting like a tiny hurricane around his naked shaft. "Poe… Poe… I need… need to feel you come. Come for me, love. Come for me. Show me how much you need me. How much you love me…" 

Poe doesn't need any more encouragement than that. He screams as soon as the permission is given, his whole body going tense with the wound, coiled desperation deep inside, hovering on the edge of the abyss for a second that feels infinite, torturous and wonderful, before he falls, and falls, and _falls_ , crying out in gratitude and release.

"I'm yours, Kylo Organa-Solo," he gasps. "I'm _yours_."

The climax that rips through him is bliss beyond words, dragging every sensation to the surface, on and on until it starts to abate, receding from him, leaving him breathless and exhausted and utterly _euphoric_ beyond anything that words can express.

The wash through the Bond leaves Kylo reeling. It's one thing feeling happiness and pleasure and bliss, but the ecstasy is so overwhelming that he can't hold back for much longer. He slams in one last time, his balls tensing as he spurts deep inside, and he bends down over his husband.

Down, and grabs his jaw, and holds him for a shaky, loving kiss as the last, wracking waves of pleasure flood out from him, sealing their union deep inside of his beloved. He breaks the kiss, panting against his cheek. "I'm **yours** ," he agrees, and drops his forehead to Poe's. 

Blindfolded, bound, wrecked and helpless, and Poe has never felt more free. He leans into the contact, trying to remember to do crucial things like breathe, so completely out of his head that he can't quite get any more of the words to actualise. He just… _is_ , here and happy and shaking and all but _glowing_.

"…L've… y…" he tries, still needing to say it, even though Kylo knows. And Poe knows.

And it's so perfectly right.

A gesture, and the ankle restraints go. The bar floats up and behind the bed, and Kylo moves to lie between his lover's legs. He curls over him, protectively, and kisses softly at his neck. He's not about to undo the other restraints, not yet, but this will do for now. 

"Shh. It's okay. It's okay. You did so well. You can rest, now, Poe. You can rest. I have you: you're safe. Shhhhh." 

Poe curls in as much as he can. He does feel safe. So amazingly, wonderfully safe, and it soothes something at his core, something that vanishes whenever Kylo holds him like this. Whenever Kylo makes him _feel_ like this. The whole world seems to go still, not from anything bad, but from sheer contentment, and safety, and _rightness_.

" _Kylo_ ," he murmurs, in bliss. "My Kylo."

"Yes, your Kylo," he agrees. "And you: my Poe." He unhooks things enough so they can roll, and he turns them to one side, pulling him in snug to his chest. He doesn't want to smother him, and his hands stroke soothingly over his side. "My husband. All mine, forever."

More kisses, this time over his forehead, and he slips the blindfold off. He doubts Poe will want his eyes open right now, anyway, but he could do. 

Even with his eyes open, Poe isn't entirely sure he could see. He blinks a few times, then decides closed is better and curls in more again.

"Yes," he whispers, nodding a little too, without realising he's doing it. "Yes. Yours. All yours."

His mind is slowly sinking deeper still. They stand on the brink of the most dangerous day of their lives, the most crucial moment of all… and yet, right now, Poe can't feel any of it. All he can feel is this.

"You can sleep," Kylo tells him, basking in the radiated calm and happiness. Poe is much easier to get calm than he is, and then he can bathe in the reflected feelings. It helps. A lot. "Shh, just sleep, Poe. It's okay. I'll hold you."

The belt holding Poe's wrists goes next, leaving him completely free, but covered in Sith. 

Poe curls right in against Kylo's chest, where he can feel his heartbeat, hear his breath. Where he knows that _he is_ and _they are_ , and everything is right.

What comes tomorrow, comes tomorrow, but tonight?

Tonight, they've already won.


	55. Duel Of The Fates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT, PEOPLE. The one you've been waiting for.
> 
> Brace yourselves. We're going in...

The morning comes too soon, and Kylo wakes with it. Poe even smiles in his sleep, and Kylo loves to watch the sunlight dance over his hair and face. He glows, even without looking at him through the Force. He's radiant and beautiful, the serenity Kylo never found alone.

Married. They're married. And no one objected – quite the opposite. He remembers all those happy faces, and knows they're happy for him, too. He's part of this – their _family_. His own family is wide, but the real core of it is here, in his arms. Poe. He sees him starting to stir and leans in to kiss down the side of his face.

"Good morning… husband." 

Poe pushes in tighter, still smiling to himself. "It is with you here," he murmurs. " _Husband_."

They did it. They actually did it. They got married under the stars, and nothing and no one can take that away from them. Poe kisses Kylo softly, wherever he can reach, knowing they have to move soon and wanting to enjoy every second of closeness before they do.

"I would ask if you slept well," Kylo starts, fingers sliding over the stubble he's yet to shave clean, "…but I know the answer. It's strange, isn't it? How different, and the same, this all is…" They're a couple in the eyes of the law, now. 

Poe nods. "Strange, yes. I feel… the same as yesterday morning, and completely different." And then his eyes sparkle. "I feel _both_."

"And I hope you didn't object to me not taking your surname? I thought it would be confusing enough as it is. One of the reasons my parents didn't." 

"Of course not," Poe tells him, smiling. "I still haven't gotten over the moment when you called yourself _Organa-Solo_. It… Kylo, it was perfect, and I'm so…" A hand of his own up, resting gently on Kylo's jaw. "…so happy you finally took it back."

"The Knights are not mine, not anymore," Kylo says, sadly. "If they come back, they won't be _Ren_ , but **Eigengrau**. I may no longer be the boy who was Ben, but I am still part of my family. It felt… it felt right." Eyes closed, he turns to kiss Poe's palm. "It's who I am. Changed, but still tied, still moored."

"Still _here_ ," Poe whispers, and kisses him. "I love you so much. And now I'm married to you. And I feel… so happy, I don't even have the words. I just know that _this_ is what I was searching for, for far too long. This. _You_."

Kylo holds him, then, a hand sliding under his head, the other around his waist, pulling him closer. "You kindled my Light, Poe. You gave me the balance, the focus, the control. You gave me something worth _fighting for_. I mean it when I say I couldn't have done any of this without you. You… are what will keep that monster out of my head. Knowing I have you to fight for will make me stronger." 

"You can do this, Kylo," Poe says, softly. "I know it. You're strong, and you're ready. And you're not alone. And you will never, ever be alone again."

He rests his forehead against Kylo's. "So you go, and you win this. And then you come home to me, to your family, and you live the life that should always have been yours."

Kylo rolls Poe onto his back, grabbing his hands and pushing them into the bed. They don't have time for what he'd really want to do, but they have time for him to kiss him properly. Like it could be the last time. It isn't, but he kisses him deeply, so he can remember the tingle on his lips and tongue when he needs it. A slow, slow fucking into his mouth, and the taste of him as deeply as he can get it.

"For you," he promises. "I'll win this for you. For _us_." 

"For us," Poe agrees, happy and sad at the same time.

He could linger here forever, but they have to move.

This is it. This is it.

***

It isn't long before the base is a hub of activity. On every landing pad, ships are being warmed up, the final checks made. Pilots and astromechs rush back and forth, making their preparations. The atmosphere is tense, but focused. They know what they're facing. Pulling this off will be no mean feat… but they could all have said the same, before Starkiller.

It seems so long ago now. So much has changed in the weeks since that day.

Perhaps everything was always building up to this.

The morning – like all the mornings here – is cool and hazy, the mist not fully lifted yet. As launch time approaches, the pilots all start to gather on the central concourse, close to where the two TIE-Interceptors sit.

Close to where Poe Dameron is waiting for them. His pre-mission pep-talks have become something of a tradition, but he can't help feeling that this one needs to be the speech of a lifetime.

Kylo waits until there's enough people, then he drops to one knee and waits for Poe to hop onto his shoulders. When he feels he's seated enough, he stands and lifts Poe way, way, way over everyone's heads. 

It certainly gets the other pilots' attention, and they all quieten down very rapidly. Poe stares out at them, and for a moment – even with all his forethought – he doesn't quite know what to say. What _can_ you say, on a morning like this, facing what they face?

A morning in the cool mist, after a night filled with stars.

And then… then he just _knows_.

"I should start by thanking you all for last night," he says. "Seeing you standing together in the dark like that… it reminded me – again – of just how much you all mean to me. To each other. We're facing a battle that will go down in history, a battle that might even put Starkiller to shame, and I know you're nervous. I'm nervous. I'd be nervous even if the love of my life _wasn't_ going into the largest Star Destroyer since the _Executor_ , to face down the strongest Dark Side Master of the age. And he is."

"But, you know what? I know in my heart that we can do this. That he can do this. That _you_ , all of you, can do this. I know it. We are the sons and daughters of the Rebellion; the Rebellion that took down _two_ Death Stars. Well. Starkiller was our first. And this, today? This is our second."

A smile comes to his face, despite everything, and Poe finds Snap in the crowd, meeting his eyes before he speaks again. "We might be outnumbered, but we'll never be outclassed. The First Order can build superweapons the size of planets, and single ships larger than our entire fleet, but we still triumph. And do you know why that is? Take a look around you. Take a look at the allies, at the _friends_ , standing beside you. You'd die for them, and they'd die for you, but I know for a fact that – first and foremost – all of you would _live_ for each other. You did, you do, you will. That is what the First Order will never have, and that is why they will never win."

"So you go out there, all of you, and you do this. For the Resistance, for the Republic, for freedom… and for the people at your side. For the ones who _matter_. It has been an honour to fly with you, my friends. And it will _keep_ being an honour, when today is long gone. So get to your ships… and may the Force be with you."

Which is when Kylo grabs Poe's hips, hoists him higher, then tosses him up in the air so he can catch him in his arms on the way back down again, as the crowd echoes back the sentiment in a loud roar. 

Poe laughs and kisses Kylo, holding on for a moment before the taller man puts him back down. Many of the pilots are still applauding, and he moves in now, hugging quite a few before – in the centre of the crowd – he holds up a hand.

"Let's do this!"

There's another roar of approval, and the group starts to disperse, heading for their ships. Snap lingers – of course – moving over to Poe as soon as he can.

"Don't you dare die, Dameron."

"Right back at you, Wexley."

They hug too – with shoulder-slapping aplenty – and then Snap looks between Poe and Kylo. "I'll see you both back here when this is over," he says. "Drinks are on me."

"Already looking forward to it," Poe replies.

Giving them a moment, Kylo walks over to his TIE, where Rey is already waiting, BB-8 at her feet. "I hope R2 isn't too sore about being left behind," he asks. "I really can't fit him on my knee. BB-8 is going to be hard enough." 

"He'll get over it," Rey replies. "Besides, someone has to stay here and keep C-3PO calm. Calm-ish."

Poe follows, once he's watched Snap head off with Jess at his side, and BB-8 spins over to him, bumping at his heels. "I'll be fine, don't you worry," Poe insists, resting a hand on the astro's chassis. "You just focus on getting that shield down."

BB-8 agrees it will, but still isn't sure. A few more rocks, back and forth against Poe's hand.

"I'll make sure you're safe, and Finn will take care of Poe," Kylo reassures the astromech. "Plus, I think Poe would like you to take care of _me_."

BB-8 will, of course, it says. Although it doesn't have the Force, it drops out that nasty-looking electro-shock tool. 

"If it comes to it, yes. You shock Snoke," Kylo agrees, and then scoops the droid up, under one arm. "But put it away for now."

Finn grabs Rey's hand. "We all get out of this, remember?" he tells her, before pulling her in for a quick kiss. 

Rey kisses him back, obviously lingering over letting go again. She looks remarkably calm, but at the same time Poe can only imagine what the inside of her head must be like right now.

"I'll second that," he says, as the younger couple break apart. "You keep my husband safe, Rey."

"Count on it," she promises.

Just as Poe is about to say something else, he spots someone heading in their direction. Two someones: Leia, and Han.

"We couldn't let you go without saying goodbye," Leia starts out. She looks half-nervous and half-hopeful.

"Mother… we're going to be okay," Kylo says, holding his hand out to comfort her.

"Yeah. Well. Still don't go haring off on damn fool missions without talking. We done enough of that recently, remember?" Han says, lingering barely behind his wife. 

"We know what we're doing this time," Poe says, levelly. "If ever we're going to pull this off… it's now."

"Poe's right. This is our best chance. We'll be fine." Kylo squeezes her hand, then lets go. "I promise, we'll be fine. This is it. This is when we're finally free." 

Leia holds her son's hand tightly until he breaks contact. "I know you can do this," she says. "I know you _all_ can. Our hope goes with you. Our _love_ goes with you."

"And we won't let you down," Poe promises, and then… he smiles. " _Leia_."

That makes her reach out, pulling her new son-in-law into a hug. "Your mother would be so proud of you," she whispers, as they pull back. "And… remind me to tell you the story about Naboo sometime. For now… I think you all have someplace to be."

Kylo nods to his father, accepts the same in response, and then leaps into the TIE with more ease than he should have, still holding the astromech in his arms. He settles BB-8 down, and tries to get his legs ready. "Okay, we should get going, before we run out of time." Not that he wants to go, but… he wants to be coming back, already.

Finn nods, offering a sharp click of his heels and soldierly respect to the two Generals before climbing into the other craft.

"We'll race ya back, after," Han says. "See if you can keep up with the _Falcon_." 

Poe grins. "You got yourself a deal," he answers. And then, with one last nod to the pair of them, he turns to the two ships at his back, looking over at Kylo, pressing a hand to his own chest before he hurries to the other ship and clambers in. Rey goes to take her place in the first ship, and… they're ready.

This is it.

The hatches of the Interceptors close, and Poe starts the power-up sequence, whilst squawking the radio at the same time.

"All wings, this is Black Leader. Prepare for launch. Red squad, Blue squad, follow us into hyperspace but wait for the signal before you drop to sublight. Black Two, follow my lead, and stay in tight formation when we get to the Virios system."

"Copy, Black Leader," comes Rey's reply.

Engines engaged, and the Interceptor lifts off, with the second ship following close behind and – moments later – a whole swarm of X-Wings at their back. And the _Millennium Falcon_ , of course. They race skyward, through the mist, into the bright blue of morning, and then up towards the inky black of space. Tahanan shrinks behind them as they break orbit, and then Poe powers up the hyperdrive.

"Prepare to engage on my mark. Three… two… one… mark!"

Reality streaks to white, as the Resistance fleet hurtles into hyperspace.

This is it. One way or another… this is the end.

***

The two TIE-Interceptors drop out of hyperspace close to a huge gas giant in the Virios system: the planet Zekkan. It shimmers in the glow of its vast red star, an even deeper red than it would already be.

It reminds Poe of Yavin. But he only has seconds to muse on this fact before he's pulled back to the sight right in front of him, hanging in front of the planet.

The _Decimator_. It's the third time he's seen it, and still nothing can quite prepare him for how big the thing is, or how deadly those gravity well generators look. Or… the weight of memory that hangs over him, heavy and terrible. Instinct makes him put his hand on the sabre-blaster at his side, needing to know it's there.

Needing to remember that he _won_ , that he got Kylo back. That he did that, and that they can do this.

"…There it is," he says to Finn, over his shoulder, conscious that the younger man is the only one of the four of them who hasn't actually seen the _Decimator_ before.

"Well, you can't miss it," Finn says, sounding both awe-struck and horrified in one. "I see the targets. Well. After the shield goes down, anyway." No point in hammering them until that happens.

"Yeah," Poe agrees. "We gotta fly casual until Kylo and Rey get BB-8 to an access terminal. Though I can't help feeling it won't be that easy. First trick is getting them on board."

He clicks the radio, calling over to the other Interceptor, using a comm signal that the _Decimator_ is unlikely to pick up. Or, not immediately, at least. "Black Two, you copy?"

"I'm here," comes Rey's reply.

"I'm gonna see if I can sweet-talk you some landing clearance. Be ready to move in fast."

"Copy that. Try not to use Finn's old designation if you can help it."

"…Honestly, you accidentally announce yourself as a renegade one time. One time!"

Poe is still blaming _that_ whole incident on the stress of having Snoke half in his head on the occasion in question. But he still knows he should have been more careful.

Like he will be now.

He switches to a common signal and broadcasts wide. " _Decimator_ squadron control, this is FN-6036."

"Go ahead, 6036," comes the reply.

"There's two of us inbound from the _Finalizer_. We have updated deployment details for the Commander."

"Copy, 6036. No doubt she'll be pleased to see you. Flash your idents and come in to bay four."

"Roger, control."

Poe clicks the radio off and breathes out. "That was too easy."

"They likely suspect it is us, even with Rey and I shielding us mentally," Kylo says, over the comm. "I suspect he thinks he will win. Arrogance will be his downfall." Pause. "Well. And my sabre-hand."

"So you gonna go for it anyway?" Finn asks.

"No choice but to," Kylo replies. 

"Ready when you are, Poe," Rey adds.

"All right," Poe answers. "Follow me in. They'll be expecting us to land with you, so I'll have to come up with some explanation as to why I can't. It won't work for long, but it should buy you time to get out of the hangar bay. And… then we have to stay out of trouble until BB-8 gets the shield down."

He brings the Interceptor arcing towards the _Decimator_ , the second ship following close behind, until the vast Star Destroyer fills their whole field of view. The landing bay in question is lit up, running lights active to guide them in.

This is it. The last point of contact. "Rey… Kylo… good luck," Poe manages.

"See you on the other side," Kylo says, and the line goes dead as they enter the Star Destroyer. 

"…that… does not feel good," Finn admits. "I don't know how you keep doing this." 

"Neither do I," Poe answers, softly. Right now, he feels like he's just been snapped in two. "We just… we have to."

He's still staring down towards the hangar bay when the radio crackles again. "6036, this is _Decimator_ squadron control. We read your companion ship as having docked, but not your own. Is there a problem?"

Lie quickly. Lie _quickly_. "… _Decimator_ control, we appear to have a faulty motivator. We're attempting to patch it now. Please stand by."

"Copy, 6036."

He breathes out. "That is not going to convince them for long."

"…does this thing even have a motivator, or did you make that up?" Finn asks, with a little bit of Sith in him when he does. 

"I'm reasonably sure it does," Poe replies. "I mean, an X-Wing certainly has one. I'm not entirely sure how you would fix it from inside the cockpit, whilst in space, but… see, this is where BB-8 comes in handy. Or Snap. Or… y'know… anyone who can think in straight lines…"

He stares at the _Decimator_ again. Every time he does, he can feel a weight on his chest, and it is _not_ helping.

"…the… uh… cannon seem to be turning towards us. That's a bad sign, I'm pretty sure…" Finn's talking because he's nervous, his finger so close to the trigger he's holding. "Keep calm. Keep calm. We can do this…"

Somehow, having a giant gun swerving in their direction makes Poe's mind sharpen significantly. What this says about him… well, he _does_ know, but now is not the time.

"Ohhh, not good," he mutters. "We're gonna have to pull some evasive manoeuvres if they… yep, yep, they _definitely_ know we're up to something… OK, kid, hold on back there. This might get a little rough…"

He flips switches rapidly, releasing all the controls to manual and killing as many of the stabilisers as he dares, and then – without warning – the Interceptor _hurtles_ forward, pulling off a half-spin to stop the _Decimator_ getting a weapons' lock, and then arcing to flip underneath it.

"Tell me when I start shooting, okay? Because until you tell me, I'm gonna not!" Finn hollers, even though he doesn't need to shout. 

"Good plan," Poe agrees, turning sharply so as to start flying along the underbelly of the vast Star Destroyer. "Until BB-8 gets the shields down, you won't make much of a dent. Although… if they launch their own TIEs, you're gonna want to shoot at them!"

He certainly would. Not having his own weapons' controls is still disconcerting. But… it does mean he can _really_ concentrate on flying.

And… oh, but this is familiar: dancing around the sides of a Star Destroyer, Finn at his back, flying like a crazy person and thoroughly getting away with it. Poe smiles to himself, despite everything. He knows this is not a normal reaction either, but it's better than the lingering fear.

Anything is better than that.

They barrel up and over the top of the _Decimator_ again, getting several volleys of cannon fire for their trouble, but Poe dodges without even really thinking about it, weaving in and out of the bursts of light, avoiding them with ease.

"Come on, guys, try a _little_ bit harder," he murmurs.

"Do NOT – I repeat, do NOT taunt them!" Finn yells. "I want to walk away from this, Poe Dameron! You keep taunting them and they will hit us for sure!"

"It's part of my process," Poe insists, sounding only very slightly guilty. Mostly he sounds fired-up, and fired-up is good, and he wants to stay that way. "Although… usually no one else has to listen to that part…"

A new volley of cannon fire, and Poe brings the Interceptor into another tight spiral, hurtling up and over, sorely wishing – again – for a trigger and a crosshairs of his own. Wanting this ship, this whole, hateful ship, to _hurt_ , to…

Something flashes on his scope. "…Finn, you see that?!" he exclaims. "The shield is down! Power up the weapons and get those launchers ready. We're going in."

"I am _on_ it, **so** on it." The gunner brings the modified weapons around to bear, targeting the closest of the emitters. He waits for the scope to make contact, then fires off the first volley.

"I… I think I hit it? I think so… let me lay some lasers down, just in case…" 

Before Poe can even answer, a burst of flame rips through the first of the four gravity well generators, flaring outwards with such force that he has to dodge upwards to avoid it. He whoops with delight, searing the image onto his mind so he doesn't ever forget how it looks.

"Nice shot!" he calls out. "I'm gonna bring us around to… ah _fuck_ …"

Down below, three of the hangar bays light up, and a squadron of TIE-Fighters comes pouring out of each. And no doubt they won't be the last.

"…Well, that was inevitable," Poe says. "Keep your focus on targeting the emitters. Let me worry about dodging the bucketheads."

"Right on it. I'mma light 'em up!" Finn's voice bubbles with excitement, and he swivels to pinpoint the next target. "Line me up, line me up!" 

"Oh, I'll line you up, all right," Poe mutters. "I'll line you up so good, you couldn't miss a thermal exhaust port…"

***

Deep inside the _Decimator_ , BB-8 pulls back from the access point it's been jacked into, bleeping excitedly at Kylo and Rey, telling them that the shield on the vast Star Destroyer is down, and the way is clear for Poe and Finn's attack.

"Nice work," Rey tells it, patting its chassis in a very Poe-like way. Then she turns, and looks at Kylo, her expression… complicated. "You ready for this?"

"As I ever can be," he replies, honestly. You're never really prepared for these kinds of things. No matter how much you tell yourself you are, how long and hard you work to gear up to it, it's… how do you ever feel ready to face your abuser?

Kylo's hand tightens on his sabre-hilt. Darth Vader's. Vader, Apprentice to Sidious, Apprentice to Plagueis. Beside him, Rey holds the older one, his grandfather's Jedi blade. Red and blue. He isn't sure he's ready, but he's sure this is as ready as he gets. 

Snoke has to die. For real, this time. Sidious failed so many years ago, and Kylo has to be stronger, with Rey by his side. Stronger than the _Emperor_. Stronger than Snoke. 

"Let's do this." He doesn't need to give her some long and complicated pep talk. He's not even sure he's capable of it, but he doesn't need to. She might not have lived for decades under Snoke's rule, but she's seen enough through their training to understand the depth of his evil, his Darkness. 

The door opens, and the two soldiers walk in, side by side. Their weapons aren't ignited, but they lie like slumbering dragons in their hands.

"So you've brought me a new Apprentice," comes the deep and amused voice of the tall, battle-scarred man who sits on his throne. 

"You know we've come to kill you."

"And you know you'll fail."

"If you mean like Sidious before me, then no. I am wiser than he ever was, and _I am not alone_." Kylo kicks his red blade to life, going into a defensive posture, ready.

At his side, Rey spins her own blade as it ignites, vibrant blue lancing out to join Kylo's in the darkness, and here they are, at last: the weapon of Anakin Skywalker, and the weapon of Darth Vader. Blue and red, Light and Dark, Jedi and Sith, not opposed but allied.

**Balanced**.

"He's right," she adds, with as much fierceness as she can muster. "Kylo Organa-Solo does not stand alone. But you do. Where are your allies, _Darth Plagueis_? Where are your _Knights_?"

"I don't need to rely on others for power," the Darksider says, rising from his seat, his cloak falling to pool around his feet. He holds his hands out, and the hilts fly up to his grip. They ignite on a swirl, one after the other, crossed before his torso, ready for action. "But you… little one. Do you think he can teach you to be great, when he ran from me in fear?"

Snoke – Plagueis – doesn't advance, but there's a sudden thrum in the air, a sudden dark, cloying sweetness overlying the decay. "I could teach you to be my right hand. With me, you could be so powerful. You could do the things this boy-child never could."

"I am no _boy_ ," Kylo snarls. "Not any more. You preyed on me when I was weak, but now I am strong. I have completed my training. And I have mastered _both_." 

"And I would rather die than learn a single thing from you," Rey adds. "You manipulate, you _abuse_ , and you corrupt. You're a relic of a long-gone age, and it's time you were consigned to it."

There's a sudden whirl through the air, a pressure as Snoke bears down on Rey, first. Kylo senses it, and he leaps forwards, angry and frustrated and (keep control keep control) his form never falters as he slices through the air in an attempt to distract the Darksider from his friend, his _Padawan_ , who is a Knight in all but name. He uses the anger to give him strength and power, whirling through the air. 

"Foolish whelp, I am _ageless_ and _immortal_. I have transcended death itself!" Snoke barks, his two blades blocking, countering, fighting. "Follow me, and you never need fear death at all!"

Rey brings her blade up too, but she staggers as Snoke bears down on her mind, and the Force itself resonates with the shock of how that feels: with a rush of horror at the intensity, followed by a _sharp_ mental rebuttal as she tries to fight back.

"You are an _abomination_ ," Rey chokes out, obviously in pain, obviously fighting with everything she has. "I will not become you. _I will not_."

"You coward!" Kylo snarls. "Using other people because you know you can't control me anymore. It's why you used Poe! You knew you couldn't control me, not any longer." His fury – self-righteous and bright – flares with a Dark Light of protective and frustrated love. 

Snoke pushes harder into Rey, and laughs. "Oh really? So all those people you killed for me, boy? All those deaths on your hands?"

"I am _not your slave anymore_." Kylo pushes out a wall of Force, trying to stagger him, but comes up against an equal and opposite reaction. He holds that up with one hand, and then tries to slide _into Snoke_.

It's – it's horrible. Kylo cries out in disgust at the thoughts and feelings he touches on, and he knows he will never out-Dark him. This is something deeper, something rotten all the way through, and even trying makes him feel his skin crawling, but it does pull the focus away from Rey, and onto himself. 

"Attack him!" Kylo yells, locked with all of his senses trying to hold Snoke firmly inside his own head. The sense whips back and forth as one then the other gains ground, and Kylo goes pale with the effort of it. 

Rey doesn't need telling twice, or – indeed – once. The second she sees what's happening, the second her mind is clear – as Snoke turns his focus to Kylo – she attacks, launching herself at the Darksider with all her strength. All her _focus_.

Blind rage won't work here, especially. And that's what he wants. They have to see through it, to keep both sides in balance, to remember _how this has to end_.

"You're not alone, Kylo!" she calls out, obviously wanting to remind him, to strengthen him through what he has to do.

That blue blade sings through the air; the blade of Anakin, of Luke, of _Rey_. Snoke deflects her with one of his own sabres, and then – before she can move in again – there's a vibrant burst of blue-white light, as the ancient Darksider sends a burst of Force lightning crackling from his palm and down his own sabre-blade, straight at Rey.

She's trained with this. _For_ this. Kylo has been teaching her how to deal with Force lightning, how to shield against it, but for the first few seconds the sheer assault of it hits her hard, and she screams as the pain wracks through her, making her whole body shake.

The effort needed to fight back is near-overwhelming. Rey raises her free hand, struggling against the storm, until she manages to bring up a shield, a bubble, against the lightning. She staggers a little again as the full force of it pushes against her, but it's no longer making contact, no longer hurting her.

This is bad. They're defensive, not offensive. Kylo knows they can't win if all they do is block and parry. Even a war of attrition won't work, because for all Snoke is old, he's _strong_ , and they have to make a dent against him. 

The lightning pulls his attention away from the mental battle, and Kylo knows that a bubble might defend, but it will only ever do that. They have to fight him with his own tools, and ones he doesn't have. Deep down, he reaches in. Finds the memory of the first time lightning coursed over his body, the fear he'd felt. Fear and awe. Finds a memory of the disgust when he saw Snoke kill, when he asked Kylo to do the same. Finds those, and… Eigengrau. The terror of losing, the knowledge of what he had to fight _for_. The kisses, after; the hands on his face. He reaches inside and throws bolts that arc all the way to the Darksider's face.

Snoke brings his other hand around, shooting his lightning split in two. One bolt over each blade, and his lips curl into a snarl. "You're still weak," he snaps.

"I'm not," Kylo insists, and runs. 

He runs, keeping the connection, circling Snoke so he has no option but to split his attack as wide as his arms will go… and then he breaks the bolts from Rey as he has to turn and direct both hands at Kylo, or leave his back open to attack.

And Rey clearly sees the opening, the gap in Snoke's defences, launching in as soon as she can, lightsabre blazing through the air. It's a perfectly-timed move, born of Jedi patience and Sith fire, and though Snoke does turn to react – moving one of those sabres to block – he isn't quite quick enough. Vibrant blue scorches over his side and shoulder, filling the air with the scent of charred fabric and seared flesh. A painful wound, but not enough to incapacitate.

The Force still flares with Rey's sense of victory, of _pleasure_ , at having got a blow in, and there's a surprisingly Dark smile on her face as she readies for another attack.

"See! You feel the call of the Dark!" Snoke hisses, one hand now locked in a push of bolts back and forth with his former Apprentice. "See how powerful emotion can make you. See how much you can accomplish…" His other hand is now back to blocking, and he throws a shove of air towards her, trying to knock her off her feet to get some space to attack.

" **No** ," Kylo yells. "You can feel and still be _Light_." He sparks out harder, and then flips up into the air. The lightning finds ground, and as Snoke is re-evaluating, he lands in close proximity and his blade starts to swing madly, but calculatedly. 

Snoke fights back, his attention momentarily slipped straight onto Kylo. "It is a lie. You are weakened by it. You know this. You know it, like your grandfather before you."

"My grandfather _failed_ ," Kylo insists. "He was led astray by your pupil, and he failed to live up to his potential. But he showed _us_ that the Darkness isn't forever, and that love can be Light, too."

"We are _both_ ," Rey adds. "We have the strength of the Dark, and the control of the Light. We won't be lost in serenity, and we won't be lost in hate."

She points her sabre at Snoke, eyes full of certainty, and suddenly her voice is full of passion and certainty, the unshakeable faith of a True Believer. "For too long, the Force has been caught in this tilting dichotomy, Light and Dark, surging this way and that, always in flux, never in balance. But there was a prophecy, wasn't there? A Chosen One, who would bring balance to the Force? I think it was true. It _is_ true. But Darth Vader wasn't the Chosen One. _Kylo is_."

"There is no such thing as balance," Snoke laughs, pushing them both back and leaping away to get range and distance. He's clearly less comfortable with close-quarters sabre-work, and he sparks out more lightning at them both.

"Your prophecy? Your beloved Darth Vader? I _made him_. No Force conjunction… _I made him_. He was never meant for **balance** , he was made to be my Apprentice, before my own tried to strike me down."

Kylo reels a little, the knowledge hitting hard. Knowledge? Is it, or is it another trick? He barely holds back the arcing death hitting his own lightning and sabre, and he doesn't know how to process it. 

"He was a child of both," the Grey Sith insists. "And he started this, and I will _finish it_." No matter where Anakin Skywalker came from, Kylo knows how he ended. In peace, with his Padmé. In the Force. 

He bursts again, and then cuts it through to charge with all his speed and strength, closing the distance and taking the cutting pain that licks at him. His red blade comes down, as Rey beside him sweeps up, and their weapons dance around Snoke in unison, slicing through his guard and whittling away at him. 

"You _failed_ , Snoke," Rey says, voice still full of that fervour, that fire. "Sidious betrayed you. Vader turned from your path. And Kylo has surpassed you. Your days end here and this time you are _not_ coming back."

Her blade slices upwards, scoring another painful-but-not-enough mark on Snoke's side, before whirling about to clash against one of his sabres, the air hot with ozone.

As he reels from that cut, Kylo takes his flinch as an opening and his blade hits Snoke's hip, and cuts up and pushes blades away with brutal efficiency, almost cutting the man in half. He feels – strange. He feels the anger, and the fear. Those are there, yes. The little boy, looking up at the source of all his misery. He also feels the surety of Eigengrau, that knowledge that he could be _more_ , that he could exist outside of Snoke's shadow. He feels the hope, too. 

Even, level. Balanced. _Poised_.

Rey's slice down takes a hand, sends one blade falling and rolling to gutter into nothingness.

Snoke is down, down to one knee. Still tall, still imposing… but not impossible. He's not infallible. He might be strong, but they are stronger. Kylo feels the raging emotion and the cool serenity. It's not both – or it is? Or something else, entirely. Not giving in, but being above, beyond, _in control_. No need to deny the hatred, or the sense of relief when his down-sweep overpowers the half-block. No need to pretend he isn't _happy_ when he cuts the man diagonally from collarbone, through his ribcage, all the way to his hip.

Snoke doesn't even say anything. There's a moment when everything stops moving – the humming, red blade in his hand casting a purple glow where it meets its sibling.

A moment, and then gravity takes the two halves of the monster and casts them to the ground.

They have done it. They have done it. He is dead.

The moment stretches – _knowledge_ – and Kylo **exhales**. "We won." 

Blue blade still thrumming at her side, Rey stares down at the body in wide-eyed shock, and her own outbreath seems like the first one in _months_. "…We did it," she whispers, and staggers a little, as the exhaustion hits. "We _did_ it. We… _you_ … you brought balance… you're…"

And suddenly, she looks ready to drop to one knee. And not from the tiredness.

Kylo puts a hand out to steady her, and then… fuck it. He pulls her in, sabre off to the side, and hugs her. He doesn't usually initiate any contact except with Poe, but she needs it, right now. And she helped him. "We did it," he corrects her, lightly. "I couldn't have defeated him without you… _Master Rey_." 

Rey hugs him back, cautiously at first, and then tighter when she evidently realises that hugging the most powerful Force-user alive is pretty much like hugging anyone else who wants and needs it. Though when he calls her _that_ , she flinches in surprise, physically and mentally.

"…We're going to do this, Master Kylo. You and me. Dark and Light. _Balance_. We're going to do this."

"Eigengrau," he says. "A new Order. A better Order." He smiles, and breaks the contact when he thinks it's time to. "Thank you. But before we leave, there's one last thing to do."

He pulls out a small bottle of accelerant and throws it over the two halves of the corpse. "Sidious made the mistake of not ensuring he was gone, and I won't let the galaxy suffer this monster ever again." 

A flame licks between his fingers from the small lighter, and he tosses his head for her to go back towards BB-8 before throwing it down and watching the flames lick over Snoke – Plagueis – or what remains of him. 

Rey gives Kylo this moment, not because she hasn't suffered at all because of Snoke, but because there is no one – alive or dead – who has suffered more than Kylo. She starts to walk towards the door, letting him have space, but then she pauses, looking back.

And she sees. She sees Kylo, silhouetted against the flames consuming the body of Snoke – of _Darth Plagueis_ – standing tall and still and victorious… and, beyond him, glowing suddenly in the dark, close to the window that looks out on the glittering stars of space…

Three figures. Three ethereal, blue figures, beyond the fire, beyond the veil of existence, looking back at them. One is Luke Skywalker, and though Rey has never seen the faces of the other two, she knows at once who they are: Darth Revan, and Anakin Skywalker.

Kylo does not move until the last flame finishes licking, and when it's done he waves a breeze through the remains, scattering the ashes and dropping to pick up the two charred, ruined sabres. A trophy, maybe, or a knowledge that the weapons and their legacy have a power of their own.

He nods to the spectral figures, and then turns to Rey. "We can clean the crystals in these, remove the Dark from them. We shouldn't let such dangerous weapons fall into the wrong hands. And now… let's get that droid and get back to our Interceptor, shall we?" 

"That would be a good idea," Rey agrees and – as if in answer – the whole ship suddenly rocks as if it's just been hit _hard_ , and klaxons start to ring in the distance. "We need to go. We need to go _now_."

"Looks like my husband and your boyfriend are doing a victory-lap," Kylo says, with a fond smile. "Poe's happy. It's been going well… though you could probably tell, too, couldn't you?"

It's nice, not having to explain the sensation. Kylo hands her one of the sabres, attaching the twin to his belt, and goes out into the corridor. "BB-8, we need to leave as soon as possible. Are you ready, and would you like me to carry you?"

The droid whirs its optical sensor up. It's fine running, but it will let him know if it can't keep up. 

"Let's grab the TIE and go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaaaaaaaand CLIFFHANGER!
> 
> But don't worry, we'll be back tomorrow with more. :-)


	56. Decimated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers... behold the penultimate chapter! We still can't quite believe we're at this point. However, on no level are we sorry for the chapter title. Nah-ah. Not us. It had to be done.
> 
> We will be back tomorrow for THE FINAL CHAPTER. In the meantime, please enjoy the following - and the bonus (and NSFW) fanart waiting for you at the end!

Three gravity well generators down. One to go. It would be so much easier without all these TIEs swarming everywhere… but then, it would also be less fun.

Poe knows he shouldn't call anything about this 'fun'. In truth, it isn't, but dancing this dance with so many TIE-Fighters is _always_ fun, and so it is, and…

…it's _both_ , OK?

They're down to one proton torpedo. This isn't because Finn has been missing his shots – on the contrary, the young man is _extremely_ good at this – but because on a couple of occasions, having realised that they can't target the torpedoes due to all the special modifications, TIE-Fighters have literally charged into the torpedoes on suicide runs and gotten themselves blown up to prevent the weapons striking their intended target.

And now: this. One torpedo left, one generator to go. Poe knows they could still take out the generator with their laser cannons, but it will take much longer, and – without backup – even he can't dodge all these TIEs forever.

"I'm gonna bring us in again," he calls to Finn, rolling to avoid a volley of laser fire from one of the TIE-Fighters. "Get that last torpedo ready. We're only going to get one shot at this, and…"

That's when he feels it. Flickers of emotion have been slipping down his bond with Kylo all this time, but the distance means they've been too indistinct to read properly. But now, all of a sudden, a _wave_ of emotion hits him like a tidal surge, so bright and hot and intense that he gasps out loud, the whole ship juddering as his flightpath wavers in response.

"Poe, what are – oh holy--" Finn's hands pull the targeting crosshairs to one side, his thumbs not touching, reeling from the sudden, weird feeling. "The hell was that?"

"He's _dead_ ," Poe breathes, hardly daring to believe it. "He… he's dead. Snoke is dead. _Snoke is **dead**_."

It's like having a crushing weight lifted off his chest, a vice unlatched from his heart. He's dead. The monster is dead and _gone_ and they're **free** , and…

…And Poe Dameron _howls_ in victory, a whoop that turns into a shout that turns into something more primal than anything ever before, and all of a sudden he's laughing and crying and the Interceptor soars up into a perfect, vertical three-sixty loop before hurtling on towards their target with renewed vigour.

"But how could I tell, too?" Finn asks, trying to settle back behind his sensors, desperately struggling to remember how to shoot. "Although – damn, am I ever glad he is." He is. Obviously, But also confused and uncomfortable, a little. 

That is a good question. A good question, with a sudden, obvious answer. "…You ever feel like you can tell what's happening to Rey, even when you're not with her? Or… like you can feel _her_ emotions mixed in with your own? Like… like there was something missing inside you, and when you saw her for the first time it all just… snapped into place, even if you didn't know why?"

"…I thought that was just being in love," Finn replies. "Or. You know. Having someone who even notices you exist…" 

That makes Poe smile. "Finn, you are too good for this world. It's…"

Off to the side, a TIE comes roaring at them, and Poe has to pull off a very tight little manoeuvre to avoid getting hit. And to send the TIE barrelling into one of the others in a ball of fire, obviously.

"…OK, hold that thought. When we get home, you and I should talk. For now… get ready with that proton torpedo. Here we go…"

Another sharp push on the stick, and they hurtle back down close to the _Decimator_ , weaving in and out of TIEs, racing towards the last of the generators. It may not be a thermal exhaust port, but you still have to hit it in just the right place to take it out with a single torpedo.

_Stay on target. Stay on target…_

"Now!" he shouts.

Finn lights it up, slamming the trigger and releasing the last torpedo. It hurls through the vastness of space and then – at last – makes impact. The final gravity well generator blossoms into vibrant death, and Finn punches the ceiling with a whoop. "I did it! I did it! Get the fleet! I did it!" 

"Great shot, kid… that was one in a million!" Poe tells him, and then he punches the radio. "All wings, this is Black Leader. The gravity well generators are down; I repeat, the gravity well generators are down. Drop out of hyperspace and prepare to engage!"

It must be a sight to see. Up ahead of the _Decimator_ – and therefore at their back – the blackness of space is suddenly lit by dozens of bright flashes, as the entire Resistance starfighter fleet – and the _Millennium Falcon_ – all drop out of hyperspace in a carefully-co-ordinated series of bursts.

"Black Leader, this is Blue Leader," comes Snap's voice. "We're with you."

"This is Red Leader," Karé follows. "Let's do this."

"Red squad, concentrate on the TIEs," Poe instructs. "Blue squad, focus on the _Decimator_. All wings… engage!"

And they're off. X-Wings scramble in every direction, moving to attack, and space lights up rather more vibrantly as weapons' fire begins to lance back and forth.

"Finn, I'm gonna bring us back in against the _Decimator_ ," Poe tells him. "Concentrate your fire on that hateful thing. Aim for the cannons when you can – the more of those we can take out, the less people we'll lose."

"Gotcha. You get me close, I'll blow it to pieces," Finn promises, his voice a little high with the wave of success they're coasting. He flicks hard starboard, cutting a line across the flank and then finding the offending weapons point and letting rip with a whoop.

"Nice shot!" Poe exclaims, as they swerve left and right, all but rolling over an X-Wing that comes in close and getting a burst of static over the radio in response, followed by Snap's voice.

"Damn it, Dameron, _must_ you show off like that?"

"Every time!" is Poe's reply. "Is Jess with you?"

As if in answer, a TIE-Fighter explodes just to starboard, and another X-Wing swings in close. "Right here, Black Leader," comes Jess' voice, over the radio.

"Perfect," Poe answers. "Blue Leader, Blue Three… follow us in."

"Copy, Black Leader."

And they swoop down in unison: a TIE-Interceptor flanked by two X-Wings, hurtling along the upper side of the _Decimator_ – unleashing weapons' fire as they go – with the vast bridge spur looming up ahead.

They have to take it out. Snoke may be dead, but this ship needs to _burn_.

"Finn, keep targeting the cannons," Poe calls back. "But get ready to switch all fire to the _Decimator's_ main bridge. Blue Leader, Blue Three, if you've still got protons, now's the moment to prime them."

"Right ahead of you, Black Leader," comes Snap's reply. "Ready to… Maker, I've got two on my tail, coming in hot, they have a lock… I'm–"

" _Not on my watch!_ " Jess all but howls, and her ship pulls off a roll that is dizzying to see – even just on scope – as she hurtles around to engage the TIEs coming up on Snap in a burst of laser fire. "I got this!" she shouts over the radio, to Poe. "Don't pull up! Stay on target!"

Poe's heart is suddenly racing all over again: anticipation, excitement, memory, _history_. "We're almost there," he calls back to Finn. "Almost there…"

"I'm on it, I'm on it, I'm so on it," Finn says, as much to himself as anyone else. He's struggling to stay still in his seat, his eyes locked on the target and only peripheral vision checking for threats. "I am so gonna kick their ass…"

"You and me both, kid," Poe mutters… and he feels it again: that sense of perfect freedom, like he's skimming over treetops, weightless, _invulnerable_ … and this is his moment. _Their_ moment. This, here, at last.

Because, like Kylo, he doesn't have to do it alone.

" _Now!_ " he shouts, and space lights up as laser fire surges in burst after burst down onto the bridge of the _Decimator_ , raking across it, sending plumes of flame scoring out into space. The vast ship jolts sharply as the energy blasts through it, bright and vengeful, and Poe loops the Interceptor around to give Finn a second opportunity to unleash hell on the Star Destroyer now juddering helplessly beneath them.

"That's it, that's it!" Poe whoops, as an explosion starts to tear through the bridge, the _Decimator_ now lurching closer to the gas giant Zekkan. "They're going down!"

"Holy-- Poe! POE! We did it! We **did it**!" Finn's voice is breaking with exultation, absolutely delighted. He rakes more waves of fire over the ship's gasping corpse, doing a victory dance in his seat with just his ass. "TAKE THAT YOU SCUMBAGS. YEAH. WHO'S BOSS NOW?"

Poe can't help grinning at that. Finn's exuberance is refreshing, and infectious, and it takes the darker edge off the thoughts in Poe's own mind.

But this? This is a moment that will surely stay with him 'til the end of his days: the moment when the _Decimator_ first feels the tug of the huge planet's gravity, flame erupting all over it as it sinks lower and lower, starting to spiral downwards, defeated, bested, _decimated_ … and _he_ did this, **they** did this… that hateful ship is about to break apart and that _monster_ is dead, and…

And that's when he realises he still doesn't have the other Interceptor on his scope. The panic hits like a hot, sick wave, and suddenly Poe is on the radio, shouting to anyone who can hear.

"Where is Black Two? Does anyone have a read on them? Where is Black Two?! _Where is my husband?!_ "

***

The ship all around them is lurching nastily as Kylo and Rey race through the corridors inside the _Decimator_ , BB-8 whirling along behind them. Klaxons are ringing everywhere now and people are darting left and right, but no one even pays them any mind, too caught up in the seemingly inevitable demise of the Star Destroyer they're all _still aboard_.

"We must be almost there," Rey calls over, as they run. "We don't have much time!"

"I know, I know…" Kylo can feel the ship falling apart around them, and he turns the corridor to be greeted by a wall of acrid, black smoke. He puts his elbow around his mouth, trying to blink his way through and… damnit that… 

Panting, he comes back out of the cloud. "No. It's… that's the hangar. Was." Cough. Wheeze. "It's gone. It's gone, and so has our get-away ship." 

Rey's eyes widen in shock and horror. "We have to find another way out," she says. "This Star Destroyer is going down fast."

She looks down at the little astromech at her side. "BB-8, can you interface with the mainframe again and see which hangars are still intact?"

BB-8 bleeps quickly that it can, and rolls to the nearest access port, plugging in and working rapidly, chittering away to itself before pulling sharply back. Then it answers, in a rapid burst of Binary, telling them that bay one is their best option, and that they need to _hurry_.

"BB-8, now is the time when you surrender some dignity," Kylo says, and bends down to offer an arm.

The droid whirs and several sections open, small grappling hooks on prehensile chains hooking around his shoulders and waist, like a metallic, sentient rucksack. 

"Hold on," Kylo says, and starts running the way the droid indicated. 

Other people seem to have had the same idea, because there's a torrent of white armour and grey engineering jumpsuits ahead. Kylo hisses, blade ready for anyone who attacks them. 

Rey springs her own lightsabre out too, without breaking pace, and it certainly seems an excellent deterrent. People look at them, though very few even dare get close. One or two troopers try opening fire, but they get their bolts deflected right back at them, sparks flying in the process.

There's another loud jolt, and the whole ship rocks again, sending people clattering to the floor and very few managing to keep their feet. Through it all, the two Force-users keep running, as panels blow all around them.

BB-8 bleeps in distress, informing them of when it thinks the ship is likely to hold orbit for, under the current levels of bombardment.

"I know! I know! Believe me, I know!" Kylo yells. He skids around a corner, and apparently the residents of the Leader's own hangar don't like two people with lightsabres running in. Kylo curses and freezes bolts with one hand, deflecting the others with his blade. 

"Get the HELL out of my way or I will kill all of you!" he shouts.

One or two take the hint. Rey charges in after the rest, and it doesn't take much to get them to scatter, their fervour collapsing just as the _Decimator_ seems to be all but collapsing around them.

When the last of their opponents has either fled or fallen, Rey stops and gestures to the only ship left in the hangar: a huge, Upsilon-class shuttlecraft standing ready and intact on the deckplates. It can only have belonged to one person… although _he_ doesn't need it anymore.

"That," she says. "We take that."

It was Snoke's, Kylo knows. It even radiates a low level of hatred, but it will get them away from here, and also possibly make up for the fact that this time _he's_ lost his previously-stolen ship. "Can you fly it?" he asks, as they charge up towards the boarding plate.

"Of course," Rey answers. She doesn't quite say 'I can fly anything', but she has a very similar look in her eyes right now.

There's several troopers stationed at the entrance, and Kylo carves through them, charging on to clear out the rest of the ship on the way to the cockpit. Stragglers they can deal with once they're clear of the Star Destroyer. BB-8 drops from his back, whirling over to an access point.

"Can you unlock the security systems?" Rey says to the little droid, as she all but throws herself into the pilot's seat. Systems begin to power up under her fingers as reality rocks again, the _Decimator_ lurching nastily, but not everything is active, and they obviously don't have more than a few moments left.

BB-8 works quickly, whirring and beeping… and suddenly _everything_ on the front panel lights up.

"You did it!" Rey exclaims, slamming the button to close the rear hatch, and activating the engines. "Kylo… hold on. This has to be _fast_."

Kylo grabs the back of a seat and throws himself into it. "BB-8, make sure you're safe back there," he calls out, not needing to tell Rey to do it.

And, then, "…please let the Resistance forces know it's us, too," he adds. It would not do to be shot on their escape, and he reaches out to find Poe's mind, to reassure him. " _We're on a different ship, but we're off the_ Decimator _now_."

The _Decimator_ is falling apart in the atmosphere of Zekkan as – just ahead of a burst of flame that obliterates its last hangar bay – the Upsilon-class shuttlecraft hurtles out into space. Beyond, the few remaining TIE-Fighters are scattering as the Resistance fleet takes them down, and Rey brings the shuttle curving away from the lingering action, keeping them from being caught in it.

"Black Leader, do you copy?" she calls, on the radio. "This is Black Two? Do you copy?"

The radio crackles with static, and then Poe's voice comes over, loud and clear. "Black Two, this is Black Leader." His voice is shaking, but there's hope in it now, and it's obvious he's felt Kylo's surge of reassurance through the Force.

He has. But he doesn't dare relax. Not until he _knows_.

"Are you all aboard?"

"Yes," Rey answers. "Yes. We're here. Kylo and BB-8 are here. We did it, Poe. We did it."

And behind her, behind the shuttle, in the grip of the vivid red gas giant, the _Decimator_ is finally ripped apart, exploding in a burst of fire and light, the remaining debris quickly being drawn deeper into the planet's atmosphere, burning up as it goes.

"Can we all punch the hyperspace jump?" Kylo asks, hands going over the screen to get a read on which ships are still going strong. He doesn't have access to the identifications of them, but he can… yes. There's a Corellian freighter still in the running. He heaves a sigh of relief. 

"It's so good to hear from you both," Finn hollers, not even caring if it breaks any kind of protocol. 

"It's good to hear from you, too," Rey answers. Her hands are shaking a little, but she looks borderline euphoric. "We're ready on your mark, Black Leader."

"Copy that," Poe tells her. He still can't quite believe this is real. Up ahead, he watches as the last TIE-Fighter goes down in a ball of light… and it's done.

_It's done_.

"All wings, this is Black Leader. Nice work, everyone. Come around to point four-nine-nine and prepare to jump into hyperspace. Let's go home."

And there are whoops and cheers on the radio as they go, arcing through space and falling back into formation, before accelerating to lightspeed one at a time.

They're away. They've won.

It's over.

***

It isn't long before the fleet drops out of hyperspace over Tahanan, soaring down through the clouds, sunlight glittering on the ships as they make their approach. As they do, the radio crackles and it's Leia Organa herself whose voice Poe hears.

"This is Tahanan ground control. Black Leader… is it done?"

"It's done, Leia," he breathes, the joy in his voice unveiled. "It's done. And… you're gonna need to clear a big landing pad down there. Your son appears to have come home in a rather larger ship than the one he left in…"

"Copy that, Black Leader," Leia answers, and it's obvious from her voice that she's smiling. "And… welcome home."

One by one, the Resistance starfighter fleet comes in to land. They've suffered only minimal losses – nothing close to the wrenching hell of Starkiller Base – and before long the pilots are clambering out left, right and centre, searching for friends in the crowd and flinging themselves into each other's arms.

As soon as the Interceptor is powered down, Poe cracks the hatch and leaps out. It's hard to miss that huge Upsilon-class shuttle, and he races towards it, looking for Kylo, needing to see him, needing to find him, to _know_ – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that he really is OK.

Kylo and BB-8 practically race down onto the landing pad, Rey left behind to do the final post-flight checks. He's got a sabre hilt on each hip, and when he finds Poe he charges straight at him, grabbing him around the torso and lifting him up, twirling him around in three circles before he drops their foreheads together, not even sure what to say to begin with.

BB-8 trills excitedly, running around them like a hyperactive child. One who just won the whole war. 

"Poe… Poe… we did it. We did it. We _did it_."

"We did it," Poe breathes, throwing his arms around Kylo and holding on tighter than he ever has in his life, the whole world just dropping away as he finally, finally, _finally_ knows for sure that this is real, that it's done, that they won, that they're free. He's laughing and he's crying and _Kylo is here_ and the nightmares all shatter to nothing in the wake of that absolute certainty.

And, in the midst of a maelstrom of celebration and jubilation, reunion and victory, the Sith and the Pilot hold on to each other, a point of perfect stillness, the eye of the storm.

"I love you," Poe gasps, when he finds his voice again, hands on Kylo's face, stroking him and holding him and leaning in to kiss him, over and over. " _I love you_."

A hand behind his pilot's head, the other around his waist, noses and lips and smiles touching. "I love you so much, Poe. This… this victory… it is all yours. I killed him, but I only did it because you gave me the strength to do it." 

Kylo can't even fully process that it's over. Thirty years in the making, and he's free. No more insidious, dark voice. No more puppeteer at his strings. No more wondering if he'll slip back under. No more… no more worry that others would be broken under the monster's will. 

"He's gone. He's _gone_." 

"He's gone," Poe whispers. He might not have suffered thirty years of this, but the weight that has vanished from his shoulders seems almost as heavy. "You're free. You're free, Kylo Organa-Solo. You're the most powerful Force-user in the galaxy and you're _all mine_."

He throws himself into more kissing, needing some outlet for all this energy and relief and adoration, needing to claim every feeling and make it _his_ , make it **theirs** ; every last one a victory trophy, a spoil of war.

Kylo's grin gets wider. "I think it's time for the victory lap, _Commander_." And before Poe can resist, Kylo grabs him and hoists him up, intent on getting him onto his shoulders. 

Poe goes with it, letting him, and in seconds he's up on Kylo's shoulders for the second time today, bathed in sunlight, and looking out at the sea of celebration happening all around them: at Snap and Jess probably about to break for oxygen soon (maybe), at Karé and Iolo wrapped in a tangle, at Leia charging towards Han. At Rey and Finn, in the shadow of the shuttlecraft, holding onto each other as tightly as Kylo and Poe did.

There have been many victories. None has ever felt quite like this.

Kylo wanders with Poe to where the crowd is fullest, much preferring to have Poe at the centre of attention instead of himself. "Everyone hear it for Black Leader and the astromech who brought down the _Decimator_ ," Kylo yells. "And the Jedi Master Rey, and the wonderful gunner Finn!" 

Finn nods in appreciation, and laughs as he's clapped a few more times. Rey actually blushes, still looking a little overwhelmed by the attention, but beaming nonetheless.

And Poe, for all he spends so long dreaming of being the one at the spearhead of the action, the one to fire the kill-shot, the one who never misses, knows now that nothing makes him happier than these amazing people, than sharing victory with them, than knowing it is _because_ of them. And… one in particular.

"And Kylo Organa-Solo, Master of the Knights of Eigengrau!" he shouts, sounding utterly euphoric and proud.

It's a long, long time before the applause and cheering even starts to abate.

Kylo swings Poe around and down into his arms, kissing his face all over in giddy pride. "You did this," he tells him, again, blushing at the yelling. 

" _We_ did this," Poe insists, pressing their foreheads together. "Maybe I did give you the strength to pull it off, but you… you woke me up…"

And he holds on so desperately tight, not letting go until he feels someone else's hand on his shoulder. When he turns, he sees that it's Leia, with Han at her side, her eyes shining with relief and joy.

Everyone starts to fall silent and, when they have, Leia starts to speak. "You did it. All of you. You went up against the greatest evil in the galaxy… and here you stand, victorious. I have always been proud of you, every last one of you, but never more so than I am right now. This victory, in the name of the Resistance, of the Republic, of _freedom_ , is one that will never be forgotten. So many of you grew up with tales of Yavin, and Endor. Well… those who follow will grow up with tales of Starkiller, and Zekkan."

Kylo wonders if he should be holding his husband for this or not, and gently lets his feet touch the ground again. He keeps his arm laced around his waist, and smiles a little more subdued at his parents. 

"Yeah. Not a bad job," Han adds.

Chewie roars loudly that Han could consider being a little more gracious.

"Hey, we helped! It would be blowing my own damn horn, you overgrown--"

Kylo cuts in: "I guess you did pretty all right, then," he says to his father.

"Not bad," Han agrees. And then he ruffles both Poe and Kylo's hair. "For the second go."

"We learned from the best," Poe says, smiling.

"Everyone," Leia carries on – in sensible diplomatic voice – "please, take some time. And tonight… tonight we celebrate this most amazing of victories."

One thing is for sure… it's going to be quite a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone! Look at these beautiful pictures that ElvenNekkies drew for us!
> 
> Firstly, one from Chapter 13, in which Poe and Kylo have fun on the temple floor after the third test:
> 
> Credit and larger version: [here](http://elvennekkies.tumblr.com/post/143158446457/attempted-depiction-of-my-fave-parts-from-fallacy)
> 
> And secondly, one from Chapter 26, in which Poe and Kylo have fun in a shuttle over Jakku:
> 
> Credit and larger version: [here](http://elvennekkies.tumblr.com/post/143188900502/i-posted-on-the-wrong-blog-first-time-omg-i-die)
> 
> So much awesome! <3


	57. The End Of The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers... we come at last to the grand finale. To have you here with us means more than we can say.
> 
> But we're going to try! After. First, it's time to see how this ends. And how something else begins...

As night falls on Tahanan, the sky over the Resistance base is lit with scores of fireworks.

There was no shortage of pilots volunteering to be the ones to let them off, even though it means they'll be a little late to the start of the party, and in the end they have to draw straws to see who gets to do it.

Everyone else gathers in the central concourse, close to the mess hall. The doors have been thrown open, and food and drink is already being brought out, and someone has gone around hanging glowing lights on everything, the nearby X-Wings included.

It's strangely perfect.

Since they made it back after the battle, Poe and Kylo have barely been apart, and right now Poe has a tight hold on his husband's hand, standing pressed against his side, almost out of his mind with happiness.

"I still can't believe we did it," he whispers.

"I don't know when we will finally feel like we did," Kylo admits. "Maybe… tomorrow? I mean. It's been so long that… it just… feels weird?" He breathes in Poe's hair, a little, happy sigh bubbling up. "The galaxy feels Lighter."

"I know," Poe agrees. "And… I know this isn't the end of it all, not by a long shot. But somehow… whatever comes, I know we can face it. And I know you're _free_ … and nothing could ever be more wonderful than that."

"We should get my mother to give BB-8 some kind of medal, you know. He really did save us all. Not just with the shield, but also finding the hangar we stole the shuttle from." Kylo's oddly grown very fond of the astromech, he realises. 

Poe grins. "One of a kind," he says, just as fondly. "I owe him my life, many times over. And… he did sort of start all this, sending us to Eigengrau they way he did." A distant little smile. "And look how that ended up."

"…he deserves to be called a Sith for that, alone," Kylo says, laughing. "Darth-8? The first droid Sith, and the first non-Force-sensitive, all in one night…"

That makes Poe laugh too. "When you tell him, he'll probably roll over in excitement."

By now, it seems as though most of the base is here, drinking and talking, swapping stories and – in more than a few cases – hugs, as they finally enjoy the chance to relax a little. Several give nods to Poe and Kylo as they pass, though no one goes so far as to interrupt.

Not, at least, until Snap and Jess come heading over, side by side and looking _thoroughly_ intent on interrupting. " _There_ you are," Snap starts out.

"Here we are," Poe replies, grinning. "You two good?"

"I'd say so," Snap answers. "I mean, the Supreme Leader and the _Decimator_ in one day? That's impressive, even for us."

"You flyboys – and girls – did an excellent job, from what I saw," Kylo says. "And also no one shot us down when we escaped, so I have to say I am very happy with what happened."

"No one there _to_ shoot you down when you escaped," Jess points out, looking pleased with herself. "For which you are _more_ than welcome."

"Tell me about it," Snap agrees, with a wry grin, putting his arm around her. "Did anyone match your hit-count, Pava?"

"Not even close, Wexley," she tells him. "What can I say..? I learned from the best."

There's a very well-timed beat.

Snap headtilts. "…You mean Poe, right?"

"I assumed she meant me…" Poe has to add, trying not to laugh.

Jess manages to keep up the expression for a few more seconds before she cracks and leans in closer to Snap. "So… how's married life treating you two so far?"

"So far we haven't encountered any tax breaks, but it was definitely worth remaining pure and chaste for," Kylo says, entirely deadpan. "Poe was such a trembling, shy thing…" 

This makes Poe stare at him, half-stunned, half-aghast.

"That does _sound_ like Poe," Jess says, almost as deadpan.

"…I think we _all_ know what Poe _sounds_ like…" is Snap's response. "And there's nothing shy about it…"

Now Poe gives them both something of a look. "You two are going to be flying orbital manoeuvres until you forget which way is 'up'," he says, in what is supposed to be a menacing, commanderly tone, but doesn't quite work. "On Hoth. _For a very long time_."

"Nah, you'd miss us," Snap reminds him, easily.

" _Not if I aim properly_."

Kylo grabs Poe from behind, arms over his shoulders, tucking him into his chest and under his chin. He rubs his face against his husband's, and smirks. "But yes. So far. Being married is very much worth it. I have absolutely no complaints, even in the earplug department." 

Poe's attempted-facade cracks and he smiles again, hands up to rest against Kylo's arms. "Best thing we ever did," he says, fondly.

"So what's next for you two?" Jess asks.

"Plenty more galaxy to save," Poe answers, easily. "Plus… _Darth_ Kylo has plans."

"A new Academy. A new Order of Knights. Not Jedi, not Sith… both. Neither. _Grey_. With Rey at my side, I believe we can help people who veer in either direction to find a safe place, somewhere they can use both sides of the Force, and not be used by it," Kylo says. "And… I want to help my old Knights, too. If they will accept my help." 

The Sith kisses Poe's cheek, feeling softly affectionate. "And Poe said he might try teach me how not to crash ships."

"Now that, I need to see," Snap says. "As for the new Order… you might actually be able to put the galaxy right at last. Which really _will_ be something to see…"

He reaches over and claps Kylo on the shoulder. "And you know we've got your back, all the way through. We wouldn't have achieved most of this without you, and I'll be damned if we don't have a few favours to repay."

There's an unspoken 'plus I like you' in all this.

"Well, you did do a fair amount of the work, too," Kylo says, a little head-duck that shows he accepts the compliment, and isn't avoiding it. "It was a joint effort: Force, and Resistance. As it should be. We made all our families proud."

The Sith doesn't go so far as to make contact of his own, but he doesn't need to, to get his own response across. 

"We certainly did that," Poe agrees, holding on to Kylo a little tighter.

" _Well_ ," Snap says, brightly, "We'll see you two later."

"Yeah, this man owes me a drink," Jess adds, grinning.

"…You're gonna go make out in the forest, aren't you?" Poe says, before he can quite stop himself.

Jess just smirks. Snap looks faux-aghast, but he really isn't very convincing. "Absolutely not. Though, if we did, we could just claim we were taking a leaf out of your book…"

Poe groans. "A _leaf_? Get out of here, Wexley."

And, both looking thoroughly not-guilty, Snap and Jess head off. When they've gone, Poe tries to turn around in Kylo's arms, without breaking out of his grip, pushing in for a quick kiss that is _not_ going to turn into making out in the forest, nope, not him.

Kylo smirks under the kiss, then snaps his teeth in the air just before his face. "You are setting a terrible example for your underlings. Soon, you're going to have to give them the safety talk about tying one another up. At least none of them can fuck the other's mind…" 

Although, perhaps appropriately, the next two to walk up are Rey and Finn.

"I understand your gunnery skills are the stuff of legend," Kylo says, by way of greeting.

"Yeah, but only because the best pilot in the Resistance lined them up for me," Finn demurs. "Gotta admit, it felt good."

"Before long, I'll have you doing the whole lot yourself," Poe tells him. "Now we have a little breathing room, it's about time I finally put you in an X-Wing."

Rey grins and pats Finn on the arm. "Lucky," she says, brightly.

"Hey, I'd let you do the same," Poe insists. "You flew that Interceptor like you were born to it. But I rather think Kylo wants you to help him save the galaxy."

"…she can _sometimes_ fly ships," Kylo grants. "After all, both my uncle and his father did. If anything, it's probably some… Jedi right of passage?" 

"We could train together!" Finn says, bouncing slightly. "That would be so cool. I would love to be able to fly a starfighter, even if gunning is easy. I guess I shouldn't just stop at 'easy', right?"

"Definitely not," Poe agrees, with a smile. "You're capable of way more than 'easy'. And… actually, we should probably talk to you two about something else…"

They're standing on the edge of the party, but he still glances around to make sure this part will be private before he speaks again.

"Something happened when we were in that Interceptor," he starts out. "Right at the point when Snoke died, I felt Kylo's victory through the bond we share. And, at the same moment… Finn felt something from Rey. And from how you described it, Finn… I think the two of you share a bond like that of your own."

Kylo cants his head, looking at the two younger people, as they look at one another. "Yes… I think you do. No wonder the Force brought Finn to you, in the sands of Jakku."

Finn bites his lip. "What does… it really mean, for us?"

Rey takes his hand and holds it firmly in both of her own. "It means I was right. I… I didn't know what it was at first, but from the moment I first laid eyes on you, I felt…"

"…something snapping into place in your head, even though you didn't know why?" Poe prompts, gently.

She nods, still not looking away from Finn. "Yes. I didn't understand it. I just… believed it."

"Well… it means you're going to be very happy together," Kylo says, warmly. "And you might find you can hold conversations other people can't hear. You'll pick up on one another's emotional states, and you'll work… well. Together. It's what got us through Eigengrau, I am certain."

At the name of that planet, Rey turns to look at Kylo, though she keeps hold of Finn's hand whilst she does. "I need to go there, don't I?" she asks, softly. "To Eigengrau. I'm… becoming more aware of the Dark Side in me, and I need… _balance_."

Kylo swallows. "Yes. I think so. You are ready, I believe. And it would… it… you should go, to find the balance, before the Dark is overpowering and overwhelming. Not that I think you _would_ fall, but that you would suffer, in resisting. When you don't need to, not really."

And then the Sith looks to Finn. "We could take you both."

"…both?" Finn looks to Rey, and then to Poe.

"Even if you do not go through the tests with her, your presence will help ground Rey," Kylo explains. 

"And given that you appear to have a bond, you might find it… strengthened by what you go through," Poe adds. "I'm not gonna lie to you… Eigengrau was a difficult experience, but it will teach you things you never expected. Both of you."

"Then I want to do it," Rey replies, looking resolute.

"And that means I'm going, too," Finn confirms. "However you want me, Rey. Even if I'm just there to shout encouragement."

Kylo takes a slow, deep breath. "It's… it's going to be strange, having an equal. Snoke always put me apart from the others. This is a new thing, for me."

"You know I'm not planning to usurp you, right?" Rey says, keeping her tone light – although it's clear she means it all the same. "You'll always have more to teach me."

"Don't even think about it," he replies. "My first Apprentice is right here," and he grabs Poe's waist. "If anyone's doing it, it's him." 

Poe grins. "No risk of that. I like things _just_ the way they are."

He resists the urge to flirt any worse right now, although there's a rather wicked look in his eyes all the same.

" _Later_ ," Kylo thinks to Poe. " _Husband_."

And then, aloud: "We'll make the plans, but not until we've had a few days to recuperate. I think we all need that." 

"I think you're right," Rey agrees. "What happened today was… tough. I don't think I've fully processed it yet."

How do you even _begin_ to process something like that?

"Well, maybe the trials will help," Finn suggests. "I mean, it helped Kylo."

"It helped me immensely. And I felt… free. When I left, I felt free, and as if I understood, and I was capable and powerful again," Kylo agrees. "And we'll be there to help you. To… support you. Then we'll have to think about our new recruits."

"Yeah, we probably need to know how to find them."

"And ensure they believe I'm not rounding them up to kill them," Kylo muses. 

"We can find a way to make it work," Rey replies. "I know it won't be easy, but… I know we can do it."

"We can do it," Poe agrees, with a wry smile. Because he and Finn are just as much a part of this, now more than ever. Even without the Force powers.

"I think… I think we're about to get the parental hugging thing," Kylo says, seeing a short General and a tall General and a taller Wookiee making headway towards them. 

"C'mon, Rey," Finn says, tugging her hand. "I think we need to have a talk. About… things."

Rey grins, an oddly wicked look in her eyes. "Yes," she agrees. "…Things."

And, with a nod to Kylo and Poe, the two of them head off.

"…Probably going to make out in the forest," Poe mutters. "Apparently that's a thing now…"

But he can't say any more on it for the moment, because his in-laws are approaching rapidly.

"We're going to have to mark out territory lines before long," Kylo mutters before the three older people get to them.

Chewie roars over their heads, letting them know precisely how pleased he is that everything turned out right.

Kylo laughs, and then submits to the fuzzy arm around him, watching Poe get treated to a similar action. They both are dwarfed by him, and Kylo throws a sheepish look over to Poe, even if the affection amuses him.

"Some pretty nice flying you were doing out there, kid," Han says. "And that gunner of yours did a damn fine job."

"Thanks," Poe answers, graciously. "And you're right. Finn's an amazingly good shot. He'll be in a ship of his own before long."

"All your people did amazingly well today," Leia adds. "You must be so proud of them."

Poe nods. "You have no idea," he says, very softly.

Leia takes his hand for a moment and smiles. "I think maybe I do."

Kylo wriggles out of Chewie's grip, at last, and jumps up to grab his shoulder and pull him in for his own hug. It's been a long time since he felt comfortable enough manhandling the Wookiee, but it's becoming familiar all over again. 

"I take it there's going to be a huge party?" the Sith asks.

"Damn straight there is," Han agrees. And then, slightly wistfully, "…you remember those, right, Leia?"

Kylo chokes. "Dad!"

"What?"

"Don't-- just don't."

"I can't think about my own damn parties?"

"Not around me you can't!" Kylo does not want to think about his own conception, thank you very much.

Leia looks like she wants to tell Han off but can't quite bring herself to. Maybe because of the memories. She pats him on the shoulder in a reel-it-in sort of way, though at the same time she's smiling rather too much.

"So… how does this compare to Endor?" Poe says, rather quickly, trying to direct the conversation to something a little safer. Possibly not as safe as he hopes.

"Poe!" Kylo snaps. "Do the math."

"Endor was good," Han says, sounding a little wistful. "Real good."

"I am adopted," Kylo says, though it sounds more like wishful thinking.

"…Oh… _Maker_ ," Poe manages, blushing fiercely. "You're an Endor baby! I… that is too much information…"

Possibly now would be a good time to work out where the alcohol is. And drink a lot of it.

Han claps Poe on the shoulder. "Least I don't have to warn you not to get my son pregnant."

" **DAD**!"

"Hey, gotta look out for my baby boy," Han says, hands up defensively.

Kylo whines, face in his hands. 

"I'd be more concerned about _him_ getting _me_ pregnant," Poe says, then realises _what_ he's just said, and then turns and tries to hide in Kylo.

"Point," Han concedes, apparently not that bothered. For a moment. And then he squints between them. And then he shudders. "Maybe we should… act like we never said anything."

Chewie complains that he used to babysit Ben, and this is not appropriate.

"I agree," Kylo tells the Wookiee. "No more baby talk. Of any kind." 

Leia is still smirking a little. "You boys all done now?"

"So very done," Poe murmurs, still half-hidden against Kylo's shoulder. "I'm contemplating going back to calling you 'General', though."

"Don't you dare," Leia chides, gently.

" _I'm_ contemplating calling you that," Kylo huffs. 

"…actually, gotta say the lack of Ewoks is a nice change," Han mumbles. 

"I think you might be right on that one," Poe says, trying – again – to move into safer territory. "My parents told me… stories."

"You would have liked them really," Leia insists, although she looks like she's trying not to laugh. "They were very friendly once you got to know them."

"They tried to eat Dad," Kylo points out. "Although he may have been asking for it."

"Hey! I was not!"

"They didn't try to eat Mom."

Chewie roars that the Ewoks' traps were very annoying and easy to fall into.

"…Let's maybe not go there," Poe says, looking between Kylo and Han in alarm, having previously thought _that_ story was just something his own parents made up to add drama to the retelling. "You know. Ever. Even Hoth sounds preferable."

"It wasn't," Leia replies, dryly. "It was just… tactical."

"Hoth was awful. No one warns you about the frostbite on--"

Kylo has heard this before, so he grabs Poe's elbow. "No, father, no one warned you and it was the worst week of your life, I remember. But Poe doesn't ever need to," he says, tugging his pilot along.

"Ice planets are bad, Poe. Just don't."

"…There is so much sharing going on here…" Poe just about manages. He has clearly married into a family of crazy people. This is the only explanation. Crazy galactic heroes. Luckily, Han and Leia don't follow as Kylo tugs him away and deeper into the crowd, though he suspects this is mostly Leia's doing.

"Interesting family you got there," he says, when they're alone again. Or, as alone as you can get in a crowd.

"Why do you think I went Darkside?" Kylo jokes, weakly. "I can't even say he got worse with age."

Poe laughs a little and curls in closer. He feels… odd. Very, very good, but… odd. Maybe it's just the constant remembering that _they did this_ , or maybe it's the fact that he's _married_ , or maybe some combination of the two. And in most other circumstances, he'd be here late into the night, drinking and talking and celebrating, but right now… he only wants one thing.

"Come home with me," he says, softly. "I just want to be with you. _You_. We actually won this and I want to _feel it_."

"You know I can never say 'no' to you." Kylo whispers kisses from Poe's temple down, down and to the corner of his mouth. "Let's go be free together." 

***

They slip out from the party, walking arm in arm in the direction of their quarters. Overhead, the sky is a glittering tapestry of stars, sparkling in the darkness. Poe looks up at them as they walk, but his mind isn't up there. It's _here_.

When they're almost home, he looks sideways at Kylo. "I… have something I wanted to do," he says. "If you'll let me."

"Anything," Kylo agrees. "You know that. I trust you with everything, Poe." He slinks an arm around him, pulls him in close. 

"Will you tell me what it is?"

"It's… only a half-formed idea," Poe admits. "It came to me when I was flying that Interceptor back home through hyperspace. I promise, I won't overstep, but I wanted… I wanted the chance to make you feel amazing. To show you how much I love you."

They get to their door, and Poe rocks back against it, pulling Kylo in close against him. "Because I do, my lover, my Master, my husband. I do."

A hand on his face, tilting his head up, leaning down to kiss his response against his lips, first. Just the softest of touches, Kylo's hair falling to hide them from the world. "I love you too, Poe. My lover, my Apprentice, my husband, my pilot." He kisses to the side of his mouth, not trying to speed things, just wanting to touch, to connect. 

"Your pilot," Poe murmurs in reply. "In the Dark, and in the Light."

Bracing them both – so they don't fall – he reaches to open the door. It slides back behind them, and Poe tugs Kylo through into the dimly-lit room beyond, letting the door swish shut again.

And then he arches up to kiss the taller man, slow and careful and loving, taking his time with it. His hands go to Kylo's chest, sliding up to his shoulders, stroking firmly.

Kylo puts his hands on Poe's waist, his fingers spreading so he touches the most of him he can, his grip sure and warm. He rubs his thumbs in little circles, head bowed to the kiss. He parts his lips very slightly, welcoming him in with a flicker of tongue, tasting victory and happiness in his mouth. His hands slide down to his hips, and coast over his ass. Mapping and memorising territory under his touch. His whole heart swells with adoration, and he grabs at Poe's ass-cheeks, kneading and lightly squeezing. 

Poe stands and just enjoys this for a moment, and it would be so easy to just sink beneath it and let Kylo do whatever he wanted. But he's said he's happy with this, and Poe wants to do it, so – before he can lose himself – he pulls back, and tugs Kylo gently towards their bedroom. Standing at the foot of the bed, he leans in again for more kisses, soft and careful, not just to Kylo's lips but to his jaw, to his neck.

"I love you so much," he whispers, stroking Kylo's hair back from his face, looking up at him. "I still don't know how I got so lucky."

Kylo lets himself be moved, and bends slightly to facilitate the hands in his hair. His eyes heavy-lid, and he chases palms and fingers for kisses, both hands on Poe's waist. He slides his thumbs over Poe's hip-bones, through his pants, and hums in low accord.

"I think we both are the luckiest men alive. The Force wanted to make up for all the horrors we'd seen, and gave us to each other." 

That makes Poe smile, sliding his hands over Kylo's chest, fingertips tugging at the fabric of his shirt whilst he kisses the man again, and then… he pulls back, with a little flicker of memory in his eyes.

"You remember that first night, on Eigengrau? By the oasis?"

"Poe… how could I forget any of it?" Kylo smiles, his eyes warm, fond. "I'd just lost my virginity rather noisily and enthusiastically, and you weren't running away from me. You were _showing off_. You don't forget when something as magnificent and bright as you strips and makes love to open water." 

"I wanted to see what you'd do," Poe says. "And… OK, yes, possibly I was showing off a little. I… wanted you to _want me_." Also cool water is very pleasant when you've been traipsing through a hot jungle all afternoon, but this part is less romantic so he leaves it unsaid. And it doesn't make the rest any less true.

His hands slowly slide to the hemline of Kylo's shirt, starting to lift it, wanting to tug it right off him.

Kylo's breath picks up, half-memory, and half-anticipation. He lifts his hands, putting them on Poe's shoulders, giving him more space to work. "What I did was stare. A lot. I couldn't believe you were… putting your fingers in yourself like that. I wanted to touch you so badly, but I was afraid… Afraid, but I **definitely** wanted you. Never any doubt about that." 

Poe tugs the shirt right off him and then leans in, kissing slowly and deliberately across Kylo's chest. "I remember when you first let me strip you." He smiles fondly, a little flicker in his eyes as he looks up for a moment. "Well… _ordered_ me to, certainly. I couldn't believe how beautiful you are. I knew you didn't realise it at the time, but I honestly couldn't believe my luck…"

He lays more kisses against Kylo's chest, tongue flicking out to tease at a nipple, fingertips following his lips.

Fingers in Poe's hair, and he tangles through the curls, his breath hitching under the warm touches. "Poe…" His voice is all but growl, almost as deep as his mask used to make it. "I hoped you wouldn't realise it was nerves, and was instead… wholly about control. Although I admit I was not the most suave, or cool lover." 

He bends, kisses his hair, and gently holds him in place to request more. "I wanted everything, and I was terrified I would do it wrong." 

"You were perfect," Poe tells him, in between teasing at that nipple rather more, now he knows Kylo is in favour of it, circling it with his tongue and nipping just lightly. "So very… _human_. And when I realised you were… new to it all… I wanted to show you what you'd been missing. So you'd never want anyone but me…"

He moves to the other nipple, repeating the same careful attentions, hands stroking down Kylo's sides before arching up and putting both arms around him for a moment. "Lie back for me?" he asks. "I want to make this good for you."

Cheeks flushed bright red with remembered nerves, Kylo nods. Nods, and moves to sit on the bed, grabbing pillows to put under his head. He reaches out to touch with just one hand, needing the connection. "I never did want anyone but you. Never had before, and never will, now. I never regretted a thing we did, you know. Never." 

He remembers how terribly anxious he'd felt, so eager to make sure he was adequate for Poe. Barely aware of what he could do, or what he wanted to do, but sure his long-denied libido had finally found what it had been slumbering for. "You never once mocked me. I… thought you might." 

Poe lies Kylo back and then takes a quick moment to pull off his own footwear and – why not? Skin is good – his shirt too. Then he climbs onto the bed, carefully straddling Kylo's hips and leaning in over him, moving slowly so it's clear he's not trying to overstep.

He isn't. This isn't about that. This is about worshipping the man he adores.

"Of course I never mocked you," he says. "You know I'm not like that. Plus you were a _very_ fast learner."

"It helps that – when I had the Force – I could tell what worked. And when I didn't, you were certainly loud enough that I could always see…" The Sith smirks, and his fingers curl around Poe's sides, his thumbs sliding to graze against his nipples in an echo. "And I know _now_ that you're not like that. But I'd spent so much of my life with derision in my ears that it felt natural to expect it. Not for anything you did, but everyone before you." 

"Then I am glad to have set new precedent," Poe says, with a little smirk of his own, kissing Kylo's neck, and then his chest, and lower still: a slow, wandering line of love. He has to shuffle himself further down too, until he can kiss lightly over the front of Kylo's pants, promising so much more. "And I'm sure you can remember what I did next…"

His hands start working on the fastenings, pushing clothing out of the way, freeing his lover's cock and then leaning in to wrap lips around it, taking him deep.

"Ohh, yessss…" Kylo remembers, though it does not hurt to be given a more visceral reminder. His legs fall apart, and he holds Poe's head carefully. Not taking, or forcing, just encouraging and finding somewhere for his fingers.

Poe's mouth is delicious, and he remembers the first time. Down on his knees, like in the forest. Down on his knees, and giving him pleasure. Kylo hadn't been able to understand how lucky he'd got, to have Poe agree to do these things with him. They'd barely met, and he'd let himself be stripped down to the very soul, bared as his lover submitted. He shifts, gently pushing deeper, knowing Poe won't choke. "Love… the things you do to me," he says, filling the gasp-peppered silence. "Love how good you make me feel. Poe… I **love** you." 

It's a moment before Poe pulls back, kissing along the length of Kylo's cock as he does. "I love you too," he murmurs. "I am yours. Before I even understood it… I _wanted_ to be yours. I will **always** be yours."

He slides a little lower, lifting up enough to allow him to strip off the last of Kylo's clothing, tossing it lightly from the bed, leaving him bare – and, therefore, leaving Poe himself free to kiss all the way back up one leg, before tracing his tongue over Kylo's cock, teasing him for just a moment and then starting to suck him again.

"Maker, I also love your mouth," Kylo says, laughing slightly as he does. He drapes one leg over Poe's shoulder, using the heel to slide across his back as he tries to pull him carefully down, wanting more of that tongue. "I could drown in your mouth. I could drown in _you_." 

"I drowned in you long ago," Poe murmurs, pausing to speak, and going back to what he's doing in between, tongue darting out to tease at Kylo's balls, rolling them with his lips, loving the reactions it provokes. "In your surging Darkness. In your irrepressible Light. In your command, and in your love. And I have never in my life known happiness even close to it."

He's all but burning with that love right now. With the thrill of victory and survival and freedom and joy. It fills him up, bubbling over, evident in every word, every last brush of lips and tongue.

"Kiss me," Kylo insists. "Kiss me, now. I need your mouth here, too." He wants him every which way: fast, slow, sweet, hard. Wants everything, but most of anything he wants him happy. Wants them both happy, and it's his good fortune that their needs and wants overlap so well. "Please, Poe. I need you so badly." 

"Your wish is my command," Poe says, and crawls back up to kiss Kylo, deep and loving and _so_ full of need. Need to be his. Need to make him happy. Need to seal this moment so it lives in their minds forever, like the oasis.

Kylo slips a hand under his jaw, sliding down to feel his throat with a soft, sure pressure. The other finds Poe's hand, knots their fingers together, and he parts his lips to let Poe's tongue slip into his mouth. His eyes close, and he slicks his tongue against Poe's, a subtle pressure and exchange, before he lets him break the kiss. 

"You make it all make sense," he whispers, reverent and low, moving to press their foreheads together. "All of it. This mad universe, the Dark, the Light. You make me make sense, and I never fit anywhere before. Thank you. Thank you for trusting me, when you had no reason to. Thank you for fighting for me, Poe. Fighting for me, when even I'd given up. You are the strongest person I ever met." 

Poe meets his eyes. "I would die for you. I _will_ live for you. And you never have to thank me for any of it. Being _yours_ is more than thanks enough. I mean it. You make everything make sense too. You gave me what I was missing. What I _needed_. What I never understood, until that moment in the forest…"

The hand across his throat slides again, moves so Kylo can wrap his fingers around Poe more firmly. A steadily-increasing pressure, and eyes not blinking. "I learned control in you," Kylo murmurs. "With you, I had something I _cared_ enough to fight the chaos for. To give you a safe place, to keep you in my arms." He pulls him closer, plucks his lips away from his teeth with his own, then pushes him back a little.

"Tell me what you want, Poe. Tell me, and it's yours. Anything. _Everything_."

That makes Poe's eyes go dark with need. He's known how he wanted this to go from the start, but it's a definite thrill to admit it out loud. "I want to ride your beautiful cock until you can't stop yourself from throwing me over onto my back and taking me so hard I scream the roof off," he says, somehow keeping his voice mostly level as he does.

"Fuck yourself open, first. Like that night. Finger your tight hole ready for me, before I let you feel my dick," Kylo replies, his voice **scratching** through the words. "Let me see your hand working your body ready for me, so when you slide down, you're slick, but tight. So tight, that it's like the home I always wanted. So tight your thighs shake as you try to go slow, but can't, and you try to hit that spot in you, the one I love to _pound_." 

" _Anything you say, Master_ ," Poe purrs, looking positively delighted. " **Anything**."

He slips off Kylo for a moment, just long enough to tug off the last of his own clothing, and then he settles back into place, lubricant in hand, pouring some out to slick his fingers with. And then… then he leans in over Kylo, bracing himself with his off-hand, and moving the other between his own legs.

"I liked knowing you were watching," he whispers. "I still do."

And… he pushes the first finger into himself, sliding it as deep as he can in this position, his eyes unfocusing a little at the way it feels.

Kylo's eyes never waver, reading Poe's face, drinking it all in. Drowning in the soft sound of squelch as his finger slides in, and knowing what it will look like. Knowing, and not needing to see, because the emotion and sensation radiating off his lover is enough. 

"I kept thinking that my… my come was inside of you, and your fingers… stroking where I'd just been. How you'd felt, around me. How I wanted nothing more than to get back into you, to keep doing it. Over, and over, and over."

Kylo grabs Poe's upper arms, so he can feel the flex, the tension, the movement. His eyes are black with hunger, his lips full and stained as dark as his cheeks. "You. Only you. The only one I ever needed, the only one I ever will. All of me is only for you, Poe. And I will love you with every. Last. Beat of my aching heart. I love you so much I'd break the stars apart for you." 

"You already have," Poe says, his voice unsteady with need. "All that, and more. You re-wrote my whole world. _Our_ whole world…"

He bites his lip, that need getting stronger, and he slips a second finger in alongside the first, riding both a little faster, obviously craving something rather _more_. His eyes stay on Kylo's, caught in them, wanting that blackness to pull him deeper.

"I'm going to take you so hard you forget your name," Kylo promises – threatens – both. "I'm going to fuck your brains out, _pilot-mine_. Going to fill you up until you almost choke on my dick, it's that far inside you. You'll like that, won't you? Like knowing I could rip you in two, if I wanted to…" 

"I'll _love_ it," Poe whispers. He sounds nigh-on wrecked already, his whole body shaking, but he doesn't stop. "I have _always_ loved it… being yours, being at your mercy… or lack thereof…"

Especially the latter. And it is still so very _liberating_ to be able to say it.

"Even the smell of after-sun makes me hard for you," Kylo admits. "Sit back. Sit back and feel how ready I am for you. Ready to slide home, to fill you, to seal us as one. Ready to get so deep inside of you." 

Hands on his waist, urging him down.

This is all the encouragement Poe needs. He slips his fingers free – slowly, gradually, wanting it to look good – and then reaches to find Kylo's cock, stroking it a few times and then guiding it into place, holding it still so he can sink right down over it, all at once.

"Ohhhh… Kylo… feels so amazing…" he murmurs, his eyes going hazy again.

Barely prepped, slick but tight, the sensation of his _husband's_ body parting to welcome him is a bliss like no other. Kylo keeps hold of him, keeps him from going too fast. It's a lot to take, all at once, and he loves the brush of ass against his thighs when Poe gets close to fully seated.

"Poe… I belong in you, like you in me…" He holds tighter, then lifts Poe just enough to slam him harder back down. He times that with a fierce, ragged shove into his mind. So sudden the change of perspective is almost dizzying, and he feels how flinch fights _surrender_ to his will. "Going to write my name in you. Going to fuck you so hard, but not until you think you'll die without it."

" _Yes_ ," Poe gasps, the counterpoint of the two – the cock in his ass, the presence in his mind – making the whole world go hazy, and ratcheting the need up higher and higher. He will never stop loving this; never stop wanting Kylo deep inside, in his body, in his head. "L-like that… I'm yours… all of me… _all of me_ …"

He starts riding his lover, rising up as high as he can and then dropping quickly back down, over and over, wanting it to feel good, wanting to make the other man _need_ him so badly that soon he'll _take everything_.

"Just you and me, now. Just you and me. Together, no matter what. Just you and me…" Kylo follows Poe's ragged movements, feels the way their breathing moves them, and the broken way his beloved moves in his lap. 

Then he grabs Poe's hands in his, palm to palm, fingers knotted. He gazes up, and his expression is one of utter adoration. "A little longer. Make it good for me, Poe. Make me remember why I fuck you blind."

Keeping their hands laced tightly together, Poe leans in close. "I doubt you could forget," he manages, looking and sounding both wrecked and adoring. "I know I couldn't. Because it feels so… _unbelievably_ … **_good_**."

The ever-building need is glorious, incredible and torturous in equal measure. He doesn't stop moving, more than happy to be driven completely out of his mind. Relishing the thought of the moment when that same need will make Kylo _react_.

It's always a delicious torment, dancing that line before he can't hold back any more. Kylo's eyes are dark, his grip on Poe's hands tightening. He can't move under him, can only let Poe's body ease around him. Around, around, up and down, up and down. 

Kylo wants it to go on forever. Forever, and ever. But sometimes you have to have _now_ , and know it isn't the end. Know it's not the last time, because you have all the other times, too. 

With grace, he puts one foot on the bed. Changes the angle, then – still holding Poe's hands – he pushes them over. Rolls Poe onto his back, and slams his weight down and into him. Hands in the bed, eyes on him, spearing him hard… and then he nods. 

A silent request, images more than words, and Poe lifts his hands, so that Kylo can push them up over his head, and into the bed. He drags his own hands over Poe's arms, knowing they'll stay in place, and then grabs his hips.

"Ready?" Still holding him pinned. Pinned under his weight, under his strength. Not moving, not yet. "Say it. Say it, Poe, and it's yours." 

Poe gasps in delight, a soft, "Yes… _yes_ ," slipping his lips as Kylo flips him over and pins him like that. He arches up under the pressure, just to feel it, just to know he's held, know he's _owned_ , and the sensation sends another wave of pleasure chasing through him, bright and hot.

For a moment, he just enjoys the feeling, fingertips curling into his palms when Kylo lets go, staying as he is, open and surrendering and wanted. And want _ing_.

"Please," he whispers, heartfelt, meeting Kylo's eyes. "Please… love of my life, master of my heart… _please fuck me out of my mind_."

Kylo knows Poe won't resist, won't fight the invisible, intangible grip on his wrists. Knows he won't fight. A half-beat longer as he admires the man spread below him, and then his movements pick up. He hoists Poe's ass up and towards him, holding his weight so every slam into him grazes deep, deep inside. He goes as hard as he can, a foot scrabbling for purchase on the ground beside the bed, and he all but bounces them coupled, then apart. The bed creaks in appreciation, and Kylo hisses at how it feels.

"Fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck… love you so much, love you, all of you, all of you." He doesn't care how little sense he makes. He's taking Poe with all of his length, weight and strength, and his pilot can't do a thing but lie there and **feel**. Kylo rams back into his head, finding the golden thread of pleasure. Finding it, and curling it tight around them both. He doesn't even need to edge it higher, but he does. Pulls it so tight it almost snaps, and then holds it there as their coupling gets arrhythmic and messy. 

"Poe. **Poe**. Don't you dare hold back. Don't you dare think your climax is the end of this. I'm going to keep fucking you until my legs won't work. I'm going to fuck every last ounce of pleasure from you, until it _hurts_ , and you're **going to love even that**."

" **Yes** ," Poe says, in answer, in appreciation, in approval. This is what he needs. _This_. It makes the whole world fall into place, makes everything feel incredible, makes _him_ feel so utterly right. "Please. Please… oh please… _Kylo_..!"

He all but howls in ecstasy at the sensations in his head, at the knowledge that Kylo is deep inside him, wrapped around him, body and soul. He loves this. He will never stop loving this. It is bliss in the truest sense of the word, and it is his. _Theirs_.

Kylo wouldn't even notice if the ceiling was ripped off their home right now, his focus only on this man. The one who saved him, challenged him, fought for him, completed him. The man who makes the pain worth it, all of it, because now it's gone and all that's left is Poe. A thirty-year emptiness gone in the blink of an eye and a kneel of a man. He reaches back to that memory – that moment of electric sense through the nonsense – and screams it through Poe's mind. _Kneel for me_.

He doesn't touch his cock, not until it's almost too late. Until Poe's barely in his own mind, and then he wraps an invisible hand around him and fists over it with fierce attention, a counterpoint to his furious thrusts inside. Poe's body tenses and pulses around him, and Kylo suddenly flares out with the Force. A weight – impossible to fight – a weight like his own, all over Poe. Pressing down over thighs, stomach, chest, shoulders, throat. Bearing him fiercely down into the bed like G-Force, like a punch that takes the whole body and beats the breath out, and he watches Poe's face as he falls to pieces under him. Watches, and doesn't stop moving.

It's a moment that seems to make the whole world complete. Poe chokes out a cry as he comes, though it's hard to give voice to much given the weight on his chest, restricting his breathing, sending his mind even higher. He's almost dizzy with it as the waves of pleasure finally start to die down, staring hazily up at Kylo as the other man keeps on fucking him.

"I love you," he whispers, barely able to get the words out, but meaning them so damn much. "I'm yours. All yours."

"Mine." He is. He is. Kylo doesn't let the pressure or the feeling of connection up, ripping through his mind with all his emotional core laid bare. "Mine. Yours." 

He grabs his thighs, moves swiftly and surely. Up onto one foot, suddenly bending Poe so he's on his shoulders, ass up, back exposed. Held like that, so Kylo can slam down into him. He can't keep it up long, can't keep the slamming pressure up indefinitely, and then he calls out Poe's name in victory as he comes. Eyes on his, fingers pressing white marks into his golden skin. Another – weaker – thrust… and then he slinks them both back down onto the bed, so he can lie over him, in him, around him. So he can push fingers through his hair, kiss his mouth, and – and – 

"Mine. My husband," he whispers, his heart broken clean open and happy. He has Poe. Everything else is irrelevant. He has his Poe, and Poe has him. 

And Poe has never in his life felt more free, or more wonderful. He can feel it all, now, deep down and undeniable: that they're safe, that they're free, that the monster is gone and will never hurt either of them again. All of that, and so much more, wrapped in the inexorable certainty of Kylo's love, of _their_ love.

"Yours," he murmurs, again. "Forever. Kylo… _fuck_ … you feel so wonderful, and all mine… and we won… we _won_." The joy is right there: in his eyes, in his smile, blazing through his mind, and nothing can – or should – hold it back.

A hand under his jaw, around his throat, forcing his head back and the air out. Just enough to make him dizzy, and Kylo savages Poe's lip with his teeth. Bites in as hard as he can, then fucks his mouth with slow, sure strokes. His emotion and hunger barely dampening down, and when the kiss ends, he steals another.

It's some time before he'll let himself just look at Poe. Just look. 

"We won. The galaxy is ours. It's for love and freedom, again. Not fear and abuse. Ours. We're the start of a whole _new_ order. A real one."

A kiss to the side of his mouth. A small pause. "I saw them. My teachers… I saw them. They were pleased with us. I really think we have a chance to make it work, once and for all. I really do, Poe. We're going to finish what Anakin started."

"Yes," Poe says, sure and certain. "We are. We'll make it right. Make the galaxy right. We'll find others out among the stars… others whose power is slumbering, whose potential is there, waiting… and we'll wake them up."

"Like you woke me up." Kylo grabs his hands, pushes them gently into the bed. A gentle roll of his hips, reminding Poe of where they're still joined. "Slipped into my bed, then screamed in my ear until I opened my eyes to the Light…" 

"…whilst, at the same time, showing me the Dark," Poe adds, smiling. "Kinda perfect, really."

"I really do love you, you know." He knows he says it plenty, but it bears repeating. Over and over and over. Kylo scrunches in tight, then rolls them over onto one side, holding him close. "So much. So much I go insane because I can't say it and mean it enough." 

Poe puts a hand on Kylo's jaw. "I know it. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. I know it. And I love you too, with all the strength in my heart. And I always will."

"You know, our friends have forgotten something…." Kylo says, rubbing his face into that hand. 

"They have?" Poe asks.

"A wedding gift. And no, destroying the _Decimator_ doesn't count." 

"I'd say it comes pretty close. Especially because we got to help."

"I still want a present," Kylo insists. "Even if it's a tacky dartboard with a Star Destroyer picture. Or scented candles." 

"You should be careful what you wish for," Poe reminds him. "The wedding was unplanned, which means they had no time to prepare. But they're probably plotting something as we speak."

"As long as it isn't Jedi robes. If they get me those, I'll go full Dark Sith and slaughter them." Kylo says this in all serious tone, and then he pauses. "…they… wouldn't, right?"

Poe laughs. "I doubt it. They know you, remember? You're _family_."

"I guess I am." Pause. "Black, Sith robes for you, on the other hand…?"

An easy little shrug. "That might work. I look good in black…"

Kylo bites the side of his neck. "You'd look good in neon pink," he complains. "But you look better _out_ of it." 

"Do I, now?" Poe practically purrs, wrapping an arm up around Kylo and holding on. "I think we learned that the fun way. But then, I guess it's true what they say…"

"Oh?" Kylo prompts, waiting to hear the other shoe dropping.

And Poe Dameron smiles. " _There is only passion_."

***

Out in the depths of space, on a secluded observation deck deep within the _Finalizer_ , General Hux stands staring out into the darkness.

He is raging. He is _fuming_. But… he has it all under control, at last. The initial shock of the day's events – the loss of the _Decimator_ , the death of the Supreme Leader – has subsided, and in its wake, Hux finds…

… _purpose_. Perfect, focused _purpose_.

And now, here he stands, alone with his thoughts, waiting for the person he's come here to meet.

The Dark Jedi strides with purpose towards him, the dark mask tilted imperiously high. Strident clips of heels, and the shorter person waits only a moment before addressing the officer.

"General Hux." 

"Lady Ren," Hux says, tone clipped and level, looking sideways at her. "Have you come to a decision?"

"The Knights have agreed. They will follow me, and I will work alongside you," she replies. "Will you retain your current rank?"

He nods. "I will. For now." It would not do to give himself a promotion, so soon after the Leader's death. Not yet. "And you? Are we to consider you the new Master of the Knights of Ren?"

"That was the agreement. I have the support of all five." Danika turns, looking out of the viewing port. She couldn't lie that she'd wanted this, wanted this position. The Leader had made no one Kylo's successor after his betrayal, but she'd been the _de facto_ Master.

Now it is official. Now the Knights report to her. Under her mask, the young woman smiles, to herself. "I will want to increase our ranks. With that in mind, there's somewhere I need you to take me." 

Hux keeps his eyes on the dark sea of stars beyond the window. "Oh?" They always want something. Always. But he wants something too, and if this alliance facilitates that, so be it. "Where?"

She tells him. And, despite it all, he smiles.

The Resistance thinks this is over. But it has barely _begun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And there you have it. The end, and the beginning. To those of you who have reached this point with us - whether you've been following chapter by chapter from the very start, whether you joined midway through, or whether you're here long after the end - we thank you from the very bottom of our hearts. For your hits, your kudos, your comments, your support. We did this for us, but we did it for you too, and if we've made you smile, laugh, cry, scream, question, think - or even just drag your beloved into a dark room somewhere - then we won, and we won't ever forget it.
> 
> This fic has been a wild ride. We started it barely more than two weeks after TFA first came out, and the ensuing 113 days have been nothing short of amazing. Yes, there have been challenges along the way - this fic took us to places neither of us were truly prepared for - but, standing here at the end, it's safe to say we wouldn't change a thing.
> 
> What comes next? Part Two comes next! We'll be taking a short hiatus to get started on it (we wrote the final words of this thing only yesterday) and then we'll be back. We have already set up the AO3 series link, so if you want to be the first to know when Part Two kicks off, please consider subscribing to it!
> 
> Before we go, for those of you who might be interested, we would like to present the Dramatis Personae for this fic, to show you who each of us was writing. Therefore, without further ado...
> 
> ***
> 
> Dramatis Personae: The Fallacy Of The False Choice
> 
> All characters were written as listed below, with the exception of dream sequences/flashbacks/nightmares, in which _all_ characters were written by the person responsible for the character _having_ the dream/flashback/nightmare, regardless of who usually writes them.
> 
> Our Heroes
> 
> Kylo Ren ~ Davechicken  
> Poe Dameron ~ Shadow Side  
> BB-8 ~ Shadow Side & Davechicken (as needed)  
> Rey ~ Shadow Side  
> Finn ~ Davechicken
> 
> The Resistance
> 
> Leia Organa ~ Shadow Side (with the exception of Chapter 31 - Poe's return to D'Qar after Kylo's capture by Snoke - when she was written by Davechicken)  
> Han Solo ~ Davechicken  
> Chewbacca ~ Davechicken  
> Admiral Statura ~ Shadow Side  
> Admiral Ackbar ~ Shadow Side  
> Major Ematt ~ Davechicken
> 
> The Pilots
> 
> Snap Wexley ~ Shadow Side  
> Jess Pava ~ Shadow Side  
> Ello Asty ~ Shadow Side  
> Nien Nunb ~ Shadow Side  
> Bastian ~ Shadow Side  
> Karé Kun ~ Shadow Side  
> Iolo Arana ~ Shadow Side
> 
> The Droids
> 
> C-3PO ~ Davechicken  
> R2-D2 ~ Shadow Side
> 
> The Light Side
> 
> Luke Skywalker ~ Davechicken  
> Maz Kanata - Davechicken
> 
> The Dark Side
> 
> Snoke | Darth Plagueis ~ Davechicken  
> Hux ~ Davechicken (with the exception of the final stinger scene in Chapter 57, when he was written by Shadow Side, for _reasons_ )
> 
> The Ghosts
> 
> Darth Revan ~ Shadow Side  
> Anakin Skywalker ~ Shadow Side
> 
> The Knights Of Ren
> 
> Danika | Ava ~ Davechicken  
> Daria | Asha ~ Shadow Side
> 
> Tovim ~ Davechicken  
> Fayed ~ Davechicken  
> Jolek ~ Davechicken  
> Meryth ~ Davechicken
> 
> ***
> 
> All that remains is to thank you again. We hope we have entertained you. We hope we have moved you. We hope... we have shown you the fallacy of the false choice.
> 
> The choice you never had to make.
> 
> And may the Force be with you. Always.


End file.
